The Lazarus Effect
by the morrighan
Summary: Extinction isn't always the end.
1. Chapter 1

The Lazarus Effect

Orange.

Every leaf was a shade of the color. Clinging desperately to the surrounding trees, although most had already fallen and littered the ground. A veritable tapestry of dry, crunchy leaves spreading along the short grass, submerging it in a sea of orange. John Sheppard stared, momentarily distracted by the sight of autumn on an alien planet. But he quickly flew the Jumper smoothly out of the proximity of the Stargate and cloaked the ship. Rendering it invisible.

His gaze fell to the uncloaked Jumper ahead of him as it slowly descended, heading for the village. Air currents blew the fallen leaves into a frenzy of whirling orange tornadoes. Clearing the grasses until the ship had passed, then collapsing back to the ground. "Rodney?"

Rodney McKay was scowling, as he checked the screens. "Scanning. Nothing. No energy signatures of any kind. No EMF pulses. Just another agrarian community."

"On the surface," John noted. He activated the HUD. The screen projected a map in green lines.

"Those so-called religious structures are pretty far from the main village. Here we go." John flew towards them, glancing once more at the other Jumper as it smoothly landed. At the team exiting the vehicle. He could just make out Moira O'Meara's swinging ponytail against her blue jacked before he accelerated. Losing sight of them as he gained altitude.

"I don't understand why you are so suspicious, John," Rodney complained. "One gun–"

"One anomalous gun," John corrected, but Rodney ignored him.

"–doesn't prove anything! If they had developed any significant technology or even nuclear power I would have detected it!"

"I do not like this either," Teyla Emmagan confessed, frowning. "We are sneaking behind their backs to investigate their society when we have no justifiable reason to do so."

"The gun," John repeated.

"Good enough reason for me," Ronon Dex stated.

"What is the big deal about the gun anyway?" Rodney questioned.

"Humor me, Rodney. All right?" John requested tiredly. He piloted the ship smoothly.

"No. I fail to see the significance of a simple piece of–"

"Look, it's not open for discussion!" John snapped. "If I'm proven wrong, fine. If not, then and only then will I explain. Here. Do those look like religious structures to you?"

The jagged towers gleamed black in the sunshine. Stark contrasts sticking up at odd angles from the surrounding fall foliage. Hills rose gently in the distance. Leaves littered the ground. Yellow instead of orange. Like a faded golden carpet.

"No," Rodney flatly assessed. "They are definitely Lantean, though. Abandoned. I'm reading no energy signatures of any kind."

"We can only take their word that these are religious structures," Teyla admonished. "Many people worship the Ancients and what they left behind. If we violate their sanctuary we will lose all of their trust."

"They'll never know," John assured. He lowered the ship. Powered down. "All right." He turned to view his team. Met skeptical, disapproving, curious expressions. "We go in quiet. No comm chatter unless absolutely necessary. I'll take point. Ronon, the six. Rodney, keep your scans to a bare minimum. Teyla, flank right. Let's go." He stood, grabbed his P90, checked the holstered gun at his hip. Led them out of the ship. "Remember where we parked."

A cold breeze buffeted them as they stepped onto the ground. Leaves crunched under their feet, burying their boots in places. "For a religious sanctuary it looks awfully deserted," Ronon noted as they made their way through the structures.

"Iron. Interesting." Rodney touched one of the towers. Rapped his knuckles on it. A hollow clang filled the cold air.

"Hey! I said quiet!" John retorted, glaring.

"Perhaps it was abandoned after the last culling," Teyla suggested, staring round. Staring up at the towering spires. Like black fingers pointing into the blue sky. "Did not Major Lorne say this planet experienced a last culling twenty years ago? It would have decimated any progress."

"True," Rodney agreed. "They could just be recovering in secret, re-building their own technological advances. Like the Hoffans."

"Or the Genii," Ronon reminded.

"Yeah. Listen to him," John advised. He passed a tangled shrub choking with red vines. Paused. Moved back to it. Stared at it a moment. The wind whistled in the structures around him. Leaves scattering as if in fright.

"What?" Rodney stopped by him. "Vegetation. Fascinating," he quipped. Moved on.

"Why here? Why only here?" John asked, glancing round. The rest of the ground was devoid of any kind of plant life. Cleared for the structures. Only brown grass remained. And yellow leaves clustering as the wind blew them.

"What are they hiding?" Ronon asked, coming to same conclusion as John.

"Exactly. Help me." They pulled at the shrubs, the red vines. The plants weren't rooted to the ground and came away easily. Away from a double door set at an angle into the ground. Appearing clean, as if it was in use, or had been in use recently.

"Okay...but that proves nothing," Rodney stated. Glanced round nervously. The wind soughed among the iron towers, creating an odd disharmony of sound. Leaves fluttered.

"It could be a shelter from the Wraith," Teyla agreed. "Several societies have such hidden places. This proves nothing."

"Maybe," John agreed, "but let's find out, shall we?" He grabbed one handle. Ronon grabbed the other. The men pulled. Pulled. With a creaking scream that sounded too loud the double doors parted. Revealed a square of darkness. Dust motes glittered in the sunlight. A few leaves flew into the opening, propelled by the wind.

"Should I mention now how I hate going underground?"

"No," John said to Rodney. He flicked on the P90's light. Illuminated a set of steep stairs. He glanced at his team. Began to descend cautiously. Quietly. Step by step.

*******************************************************************

Moira crouched on the ridge, eyes glued to the camcorder's zoom lens as she filmed, observed. Two of the canine-like striped animals were lying in the sun. One yawned. Displaying an elongated jaw full of sharp teeth. Their tawny coats nearly melted into the brown grasses and yellow leaves proliferating on the ground.

Small ears flicked hearing sounds that Moira could not. Thin tails swished in the short grass. The second animal stood, revealing its long legs, thin, long body. Brindled coat of brown stripes on the paler tawny fur. The animal circled, then settled again. Undisturbed.

"Anything?" Evan Lorne asked, crouching beside her. He nodded politely to their guide, glanced to see Aaron Josephes and Steve Clarkson as they stood near. Stances casual, but covertly flanking them. Eyes scanning the scenery. Aaron was looking round with interest, eyes darting to Moira as soft exclamations escaped her. Steve appeared bored, but dutifully regarded the terrain in case any threat presented itself.

"Yes!" Moira exclaimed. "Evan, Evan, I think these really are thylacines! _Thylacinus cynocephalus_! Also known as the Tasmanian tiger but it is a Tasmanian pouched wolf! I can't see the marsupial pouch yet but otherwise the superficial resemblance is astounding! We have to gather tissue and blood samples to be sure! If these are thylacines we will need to secure a few breeding pairs to reintroduce them to their natural and original enviro–"

"Slow down, Moira. One step at a time," Evan chastised, but smiled at her enthusiasm.

"These animals. They are predators...prey upon our sheep and goats. They are scarce in your world?" the guide asked, looking askew at Moira.

"Very," Evan answered, amused at the guide's utter bewilderment.

Moira glanced at them. "They were rendered extinct by over-hunting! Needless slaughtering by ranchers. Oh! You're not killing them, are you? Please, please don't tell me you are killing them!" she said, horror in her brown eyes.

"No...we usually scare them off...they are hard to catch."

"Good! Good, you mustn't kill them! You mustn't!" she scolded. "You can't blame them for going after easy prey, since their natural prey is nonexistent here. I think. Unless you also have kangaroos or wallabies? Do you? Do you know the population density?" she asked, not pausing for an answer between questions.

"She means how many are there," Evan translated to the guide's quizzical look.

"Several. At least fifty or more. They are a nuisance but keep to the hills beyond our fields mostly. Except when we graze our herds there. Then there is trouble."

"Excellent!" Moira said, oblivious to the implied approval of their troubles. "We need to get closer, Evan! We need samples to comprise a full genetic code to compare for exact analysis. No doubt there have been adaptations to this specific planet and climate since this isn't Tasmania or even Western Australia, after all. Not an island in any sense...and we need a composite of the existing population to select which ones we can reintroduce."

"You wish to take them to your world?"

"Yes! Only a few, to repopulate their former indigenous environment." She stood, finally lowering the camcorder. "We're not placing them in zoos, Evan," she strenuously stated, as if he had suggested it. "We are going to reintroduce them to their natural habitat. Wild. The way they should be, like they are here. I'm sure the authorities will make them a protected species."

"One step at a time, Moira," Evan repeated, amused. "Why don't we get closer first?" He gestured and the two marines began to take point.

"Yes. Follow me. Evan,"she enthused, "this is a Lazarus Effect! When a species previously believed to be extinct is suddenly discovered to be extant after decades, after years!"

"Like the coelacanth?"

"Exactly! This is incredible!" Moira turned to the guide. "These hills where the packs congregate. Where are they, exactly?"

"This way. I have never seen such excitement over an animal before," the guide commented.

Evan smiled. "You have no idea."

**********************************************************************

John led his team deeper into the shadows. Descending the stairs as they curved round, hugging the dirt wall. Lights shone on debris. Broken pieces of furniture. Abandoned supplies. Dust puffed with every footstep.

"We have gone three levels down, colonel. Obviously there is nothing here," Teyla stated. The annoyance pronounced in her voice. A sneeze escaped her.

"Nothing. No energy readings, no pulses, nothing," Rodney confirmed. "No traces of anything even resembling technology. I'm with Teyla, John. There's nothing here."

"Maybe..." John couldn't shake the nagging suspicion. Despite the dust and debris the stairs were clean. Clear. As if ready for use. Despite the stagnant air they were breathing. He entered another large, wide chamber. "Bingo."

"Bingo? What the..." Rodney's voice faltered as he shoved past John to stare.

The bunker stretched and stretched. Filled. With barrels. With tables. Lined with guns. Weapons. Teyla stared, speechless. Ronon searched the wall, found a switch. Bulbs flickered, casting a yellow glow to the cavernous room.

"Are these guns comparable to the ones you saw?" Teyla asked, somewhat chastened.

"Yes." John moved slowly, studying the assembled arsenal. The antiquated yet familiar handguns. "Look at this, Rodney! Tommy-guns! Actual Tommy-guns!"

"Who is Tommy and why is that his gun?" Ronon asked.

"Like the gangsters used in the nineteen twenties? Wow." Rodney fingered one.

"These weapons are familiar to you?" Teyla asked.

"Too familiar," John commented. He lifted one, turned it over in his hands. Sighted along the barrel. Checked the ammunition. "If I didn't know better I'd say these were from nineteen twenty-three, Earth. And almost brand new."

"Replicas?" Rodney asked.

"Exact replicas. Look! The materials, the design...how can you explain that?" John asked. He hefted the weapon again, felt its weight.

"Are you saying these weapons are from Earth?" Teyla asked.

"That's impossible," Rodney scoffed. "How in the world could the Pegasus galaxy acquire weapons from nineteen twenties Earth? By then the Ancients were gone, either wiped out by the Wraith or ascended."

"I know...but the evidence is right here, Rodney," John argued. He set the weapon down. Moved on to view more. "Hey, maybe we can find a speakeasy and get a drink," he jested.

"Nah. Prohibition, remember? We need to run some moonshine," Rodney quipped. The two men shared a laugh.

"Speakeasy? Moonshine?" Ronon asked, shaking his head.

Teyla shrugged. "This must be more Earth slang. Even I cannot follow it sometimes." The two exchanged a bemused glance.

"Those cavemen on M1M436 were carrying these kind of weapons, remember?" John explained, pausing to examine a machine gun. "When I saw the gun here the connection clicked."

"But there are no cavemen here. Are there?" Rodney looked round.

"No. Not so far, anyway. But this is the source of the weaponry that Baldy had. The cavemen had. The deformed men had."

"So we found the source of the weaponry. Now what?" Ronon asked.

Rodney snapped his fingers. "Ford! Or rather Ford's men! That's what this is about! That's what you've been chasing all along!"

"Yes," John confirmed. "We may have found their base of operations. Hiding behind this agrarian community. Sound familiar?"

"Why did you not tell us this?" Teyla demanded.

"Because I wasn't sure. Until now."

"Hey, hey, look at this!" Rodney was gesturing wildly from across the room. "This is Ancient tech!" He knelt by a dilapidated device. "Sheppard! Does this look familiar?"

John moved to him, eyed it. "The subsonic controlling device on M1M436?"

"Exactly! Except this one is broken. The crystals are smashed, circuits fried," Rodney noted. He stood. "Still...more evidence."

"The question is what do we do with all of this evidence," Ronon observed. The team eyed each other, debating.

*************************************************************************

Moira frowned. "Nothing yet. We may have to wait here awhile." She glanced at the guide. "Are you sure they have been seen here?"

"Yes...in large groups," the guide replied. Yet he glanced at the surrounding hills as if nervous.

Evan's gaze narrowed. He saw Moira's frown. Drew her aside. "What?"

"I don't know. This terrain...it's...it's wrong. Wrong for thylacines. And the animals we saw went in the other direction, I'm sure. And where is the prey? Do you see any sheep or goats? Or even deer, any herbivores?"

"Major Lorne." Aaron joined them. "I can't contact Clarkson. He was flanking right but I've got no visual. And he's not answering his radio."

"Great." Evan tapped his earpiece. "Clarkson, report. Clarkson, what's your twenty?" Silence.

"Sir!"

Evan turned. Saw a group of people heading for them. With markedly different clothing than the villagers, than the guide who was slowly sidestepping away from them. The newcomers held guns. "Great." He raised his gun as did Aaron. "Moira! Hold position!"

"What? I...oh..." Moira froze behind the men, distracted from her search of the distance. She watched the advancing strangers.

"That's close enough!" Evan ordered. "Stand down! What's the meaning of this? Hey!" He glanced to the guide but the man was rapidly moving away from them. Evan returned his gaze to the advancing men. "This is your last warning! Stand down or we will fire!" He clicked off the safety. "Moira, stay behind us," he advised. "If they fire we go over the ridge. Got it?"

"Yes, Evan."

Gunfire erupted. Aaron fell, screaming as blood spurted. "No! We need them alive! We need her!" one shouted. Evan fired, but a stun blast knocked him to the ground.

Moira fell to her knees, scrambled to Aaron. Blood gushed from his gut. "No, no! Aaron, hold on!" She yanked off her jacket to staunch the wound. Looked up as the men advanced. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" She hit the earpiece hidden by her hair. "John! Sweetie, sweetie, copy?" she muttered, head bowed to conceal her words. "Death Star two." She shut it off, yanked it from her ear to shove into her pants pocket. Huddled over Aaron still she pressed her jacket into the wound.

"You. We need you."

Moira looked to see one man pointing at her. "No! You can't just leave..." She was pulled to her feet. Glanced frantically at Aaron, at Evan who was unconscious on the ground. Leaves blowing and piling around his inert body. "Help him! He'll die if you don't help–"

"Not my concern. Bring her!"

"No! No!" Moira was dragged from the men. "Evan! Aaron! Who are you? What do you want? Let go! Let go of me! Let–" A blast wracked her body. Made her drop to the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

The Lazarus Effect2

John jerked his head, hearing Moira's frantic voice in his ear. He tapped the earpiece. "Baby, baby, copy! Moira? Moira!" He frowned at the silence. Considered her brief, abrupt warning. He turned to the team still exploring. "Let's move! We've got trouble!"

"Trouble? What kind of–" Rodney asked.

"It's a trap, Rodney! A trap for Lorne's team. Let's go, now!"

"A trap? How did you–"

"She just told me! Go, go!" John ordered, sprinting across the room. The team followed. John tapped his earpiece, the radio. "Major? Major Lorne, copy? Major!" He cursed.

"What has happened?" Teyla asked.

"An attack? An ambush?" Ronon guessed.

"Whatever it is it's not good. We have to get to the Jumper now!"

Racing up the stairs they climbed out of the opening. Emerged into the maze of structures. The wind was whining among the iron towers. Leaves swirled and rained down upon them. They ran to the Jumper, encountering no one.

"This doesn't make sense! Why set a trap for Lorne's team now? It's their second visit! Why wait for the next visit when they didn't even know about it beforehand? And how do you know it's a trap in the first place? How–" Rodney ranted, out of breath and leaning on his chair as John slid into his.

"Shut up, Rodney! Let me think!" John powered the ship. Lifted off the ground and swooped in a circle to head back towards the village.

"Maybe you misunderstood Moira," Ronon suggested.

"No. She was clear. Clear but brief. Moira." He cursed under his breath. "That's it! She was the target! Damn it!"

"Why would Moira be the target?" Teyla asked.

"I don't know, but it fits. I should have realized...the first time Lorne came here she wasn't on the mission. So how else to get her here than to reveal an unusual animal. Luring her here. At least they don't know we're here."

"Why her? And how would they know how to lure her here? How would they know she's a biologist? How–" Rodney asked, ticking off points on his fingers.

"Paleozoolgist," John corrected. A brief smile forming, then dissipating.

"Ford. Ford's men," Ronon answered.

"Yes," John tersely noted.

"Ford? There's no way, John! No way! You last saw him in the clutches of those creatures in that ice cave! He couldn't have survived that!" Rodney objected.

"Don't be so sure, Rodney. There...and there..." John lit the HUD. "Two subcutaneous tracking devices in the village. Two all the way across the planet."

"They have separated the team. Why?" Teyla asked.

"And which are which?" Ronon wondered.

John considered. "Here's the plan. Ronon, Teyla, go get our people from that village. Use whatever force is necessary."

"Colonel! The villagers could be unwilling accomplices or–"

"Use whatever force is necessary!" he repeated, ignoring Teyla's objection. "Get our people to the Jumper, then get out of here! Return to Atlantis."

"We are not leaving you to–" Ronon argued.

"Return to Atlantis and bring back a squad of marines," John clarified. "Delta squad. Return cloaked. Wait for my signal. Maintain position on the 'Gate. Got it?" He glanced over his shoulder to see their nods. He looked at Rodney. "We're going to the far side of the planet."

"Oh. Wonderful," Rodney muttered.

John smoothly landed the vehicle. Watched his teammates depart with grim expressions. Grips on their weapons firm. Once clear John raised the ship, accelerated across the planet. Tracking the two signals. The two red blips on the HUD. "Can you track these once we're on the ground?"

"Of course. You think Moira's out there, don't you? On the far side?"

"Yes. She is the target. She'll be moved to a more secure location," John explained.

"What do they want with her?"

"I don't know..." His hands tightened on the controls.

**********************************************************************

Moira's head ached. She woke. Groggy. Sat and stared. She found herself in a cell. It was dark. Quiet. Underground. Muffled noises from the rooms outside of her barred door revealed nothing. She felt in her pocket, relaxed a little as her fingers closed over the comm unit. She scooted back to the shadows, slipped it over her ear. Moved her hair to conceal it. She tapped it. "John? Sweetie? Sweetie, copy?"

John felt some tension drain as her voice called in his ear. He powered down the ship. "Baby, copy. Moira. You okay?"

"Yes, John," she smiled. Relieved to hear his voice.

"Ford?" he asked, glancing at Rodney who was staring at him, amused and concerned.

"No. Just men. Ten. Fifteen," she informed. "Underground." Frowned at the thought of Aiden Ford.

"I'm coming, Moira. Are you alone?."

"Yes, John...I don't know where they took Evan...and Aaron...he–"

"Bare minimum, Moira. Hold on."

"Is she all right?" Rodney asked.

"For now. Underground somewhere."

"Great. I so hate going underground!" Rodney grumbled.

******************************************************************

Teyla crouched with Ronon on the outskirts of the village. People were coming and going, as if it was just another ordinary day. Everything appeared normal.

"How do you want to proceed?" asked Ronon.

"Cautiously. Our people could be in any number of those dwellings. We'll have to search house by house," Teyla advised.

"We don't have time for that," Ronon groused, moving to his feet.

"Ronon!"

"We need a more direct approach."

Teyla sighed, following him. "Just don't kill anyone! These people could be unwilling accomplices or–"

"Or underhanded allies. You heard Sheppard." He stalked towards a group of people, singled out a man holding a bucket. "Hey! You there!" The man nearly jumped, dropping the bucket as the tall Satedan bore down on him.

"Ronon!" Teyla darted ahead of her teammate, smiled. "We need your help. We have lost our friends. Friends dressed like us," she indicated the Atlantis uniform she wore. "Well, like me," she corrected, glancing at Ronon's Satedan garments. The long coat flapping in the winds.

"There is no one here like–"

Ronon raised his large gun. "We know you are lying! Take us to our friends now!"

"Please," Teyla added, trying to ameliorate the threat. "We mean you no harm. We only want to see our friends."

"She might mean you no harm, but I do. Where are they?" Ronon demanded.

***************************************************************************

"Come with us, now!"

Moira was dragged from the cell. "Let go of me! What do you want? Who are you? What–" A gun hit her across the face. She cried out, fell. Touched her stinging lip and cheek. Tasted blood.

"He said you were mouthy. Bring her!"

Moira was dragged to her feet, pulled down another set of stairs. "Who said? Ford? Ford?"

They froze. The men looked at her. She stared back.

"And smart. This way," the leader indicated.

"Is he here? Ford?" she persisted. Dread coiling in her stomach at the thought.

"No."

"I don't understand! What do you want with me, then?" she asked. "What...Clarkson!" Moira pulled free, ran to a table where the marine was prone, strapped by his ankles and wrists. He was semi-conscious, face a bruised mess. "Clarkson? Can you hear me?" She looked up and stared.

The laboratory was immense. Tables were strewn about the room. Light flickered. Machines hummed. Electrical wires were strung from strange devices. Clumps of moss were on one table. Vials full of distilled enzyme. Medical instruments lined a trolley.

But the thing in the bubbling tank drew her from Clarkson. She neared. Stared in horror at a human arm. Submerged in fluids. Emitting a greenish glow. She gasped as the fingers slightly moved. An electrical current stimulating them.

"What is this place?" she asked.

"You are going to help Ford. You are going to reattach his arm to his body."

She whirled. "What? I can't do that! I'm not a doctor! Not a medical doctor."

The leader stepped to her. "I am. But you know about the Wraith. And their regenerative properties. The enzyme. The power. You and I are going to devise a way to reattach the arm and make it whole and sound. Fully functional."

Moira glanced back at the tank. At the brownish arm floating in the fluids. She remembered seeing it torn from Aiden's body in the ice cave by the enraged creatures. She looked back at the man. "It's impossible! There's no way–"

"There is! And you will help me do it!"

"But I'm not a medical–"

"How would you do it? How!" he shouted, grabbing her to shake her. Cajole her out of her shock, her denial.

"I don't know! I won't help you!"

"Oh, you will help us! Or your teammates will be killed! And if you still refuse we won't need you either. Except as bait for that Sheppard guy."

"Bait?"

"Yes. Ford says once your check-in is overdue he'll come after you. If you want to see him again, in one piece, and spare your teammates you will help us do this." He shoved her into a table.

She winced, freed her arms. "All right! Let me think!" She moved to the tank. Stared at the arm. Moved to another table where the vials of enzyme stood. The equipment quietly humming. Furiously considering what to do. How to proceed. She sat in a chair.

*********************************************************************

John set the Jumper down. "We'll walk from here. Our only advantage is that they don't know we are here. But that could change quickly."

"What are you planning to do? Exactly?"

"Don't know yet. Exactly," John confessed, checking his weapons. "Depends on the intel. Let's go." He led Rodney out of the ship, into a brisk trot towards a dilapidated building. They ducked behind a ridge overlooking the site as several men entered a building. Through a hidden door. Leaves swirled wildly around it.

"There's too many, John. How are we–"

"Patience, Rodney. Stay here. I'll do a quick recon." He stood, moved stealthily through the trees. Descending the ridge. Kicking up leaves. P90 in hand.

Moira surreptitiously ran her hand through her hair, tapped the earpiece. "Sweetie? Sweetie, copy?" she said softly.

John halted down the ridge, eyed the rocky terrain. The unguarded entrance. "Baby," he replied, relieved. "Baby, copy. Moira, where?"

She stood as the men neared. "I don't know what you expect me to do," she said loudly, so John could hear. "In this underground bunker, four levels down in a large laboratory full of at least ten men, down one level from my cell in the–"

"Enough! Figure out how it's done or your friends die!" the doctor warned.

John frowned, listening, but smiled as she gave him as much information as she could. He climbed the ridge, descended the other way. Froze as two men crossed and entered, talking jovially, guns slung in their arms. Machine guns. "Cooperate, Moira," he advised quietly. "I'm coming."

Moira heard his reassuring voice. So close in her ear. So far from her physically. She eyed the men. "It is possible...but you would need Wraith tissue for the regenerative properties...not just the enzyme."

"We have that."

"Oh. And the purest form of the enzyme, distilled from the moss and the flowers, plus from the Wraith enzyme sac to act as an analgesic and chemical binder."

"Good...but how do we attach the tissue? To activate the regenerative properties?"

"You need to use an electrical discharge. The electrical current will temporarily revive the Wraith cells to activate and attach. Regenerate. The enzyme will stimulate the adrenal glands."

"Excellent!" the doctor enthused, rubbing his hands together. "You will assist me."

"Fine. Where is Ford?" she asked, glancing at the arm floating in the tank.

"No. We need a test subject first."

"A test..." She stared as she was pulled towards Clarkson. "No, no! You can't!"

"Moira?" John tensed. Hearing her distress.

"If you are able to save him you will be able to save Ford."

"But his injuries are not the same!" she objected.

The doctor smiled. Gestured. Another unstrapped one of Clarkson's arms. Held him as he struggled, awake now. Another man advanced with an ax. Hefted it. "They will be."


	3. Chapter 3

The Lazarus Effect3

"Moira? Moira, no, no!" John swore as he heard her protest, her sharp intake of breath. The click of the comm unit being shut down. He ran up the hill to Rodney.

"What is it?" Rodney asked, nearly pulling his gun on his friend. Sheepishly he holstered it.

John didn't even notice. "Something's happening! Something bad. I'm not sure! Clarkson's with her."

"Something to Moira?"

"No." John took a deep breath, steadying himself before he rushed down there. "They're forcing her into some scientific, medical experiment. Something to do with Wraith regenerative powers and the enzyme."

"What? What in the–" Rodney wondered, shocked.

"Ford. Something to do with Ford." John clutched the gun tightly. "We have to get her out of there, Rodney! And Clarkson!"

"Ford? Look, we can't go barreling in there now. There's too many of them! Wait for back-up, John."

John cursed. "I know, I know! If I don't gather more intel from her in an hour I'm going in."

"John! You can't!"

"It's Ford's men, Rodney! They could do anything to her! And once she's helped them she'll be kept. As bait. For me. Shit!" he swore hotly, realizing.

"Can you contact her?"

"No! She shut off the comm...she doesn't want me to hear what they are doing to Clarkson...that must be it." He exchanged a worried glance with Rodney, then glared at the building.

**************************************************************************

Ronon shoved the man into the house. "Don't move!" he growled, glanced over at the two beds.

"Lorne!" Teyla ran to the man tied to the bed. Quickly she cut through the ropes. Removed the gag from his mouth. "Are you injured, major?"

Evan coughed. Groaned. "No. Where's Moira?"

"We do not know." She moved to Aaron. Frowned. "Lieutenant? Oh..." She saw the bloody bandages across the younger man's midsection. He moaned at her touch. "He is alive, but severely wounded."

Evan moved groggily to his feet. "They ambushed us. At the hills. There was something wrong...a trap...a..."

"It was not our fault!" the man exclaimed, nervously watching. Seeing Ronon's gun trained on him. "The fighters leave us in peace mostly. But when your people came they forced us to do their bidding. To have you return. They protect us from the Wraith and are–"

"Why? What do they want with her?" Ronon asked.

"Her? They targeted Moira? Why?" Evan asked.

"We don't know! Honestly!" the man protested, hands in the air now. Ronon was advancing, unconvinced. "Please! If the fighters learn of our betrayal there will be reprisals!"

"You should have thought of that before betraying us," Ronon remarked coldy.

"We must move quickly to the Jumper. Then to contact the colonel," Teyla stated. "You must help us! We will help your people if you–"

"No, we won't." Ronon holstered his gun. Moved to lift the injured Aaron from the bed. The man yelped in pain.

A bell clanged. "Hurry! They know you are here! Some will inform the fighters! Go!"

"That's it! Let's move, now!" Ronon ordered.

**************************************************************************

Moira winced, flinched as the ax came down. Severing Clarkson's arm at the shoulder in one clean stroke. The marine screamed in pain as blood spurted. Bones crunched. Moira turned away, holding the scream inside, shutting her eyes, blocking tears. Resisting the urge to vomit. To shout for John, to contact John. She could not let him hear this, would not let him.

"Move!"

She opened her eyes, was shoved to the bed. Already the doctor was taking the limb to another tank to preserve it. Another stanched the bloody wound before Clarkson went into shock. "Clarkson! Hold on!"

"No! Here!" The doctor pulled to a table. Full of vials, tissues. "What do you need?"

"An...an arm..." she stammered, trying to focus past the horror. "Arm tissue...and electrodes to activate it once the tissues are grafted onto the human arm."

Moira forced herself to work. To detach. She pulled on gloves provided for her. Cut away the tissue as she had seen Carson do many times. Securing the enzyme sac. Withdrawing the enzyme with a syringe, to mix it with the purer forms. To attach the electrodes as the doctor took Clarkson's arm from the tank. The arms were side by side. Moira indicated and the doctor began to sew a ghastly web between the two tissues. Joining them. Severing them as Wraith tissue replaced human tissue. Moira injected the serum.

The doctor took the arm. Sewed it in place in the man's empty socket. "Now?"

"Yes." She placed the electrodes on the gruesome combination. The gross hybrid.

"Will the Wraith genome take over?"

"No. Not with a working, living brain to control the cells. And the enzyme will ease the regenerative process...there is more human DNA there than Wraith. Theoretically. Now." She stepped back as the current was charged. The arm jerked. "Charge to thirty." The arm jerked violently. Clarkson moaned out of his faint. "Now we wait."

"How long?"

"An hour...maybe two," she considered. "The enzyme should speed up the regenerative cells since there was no cellular damage or denigration. We just have to wait."

*********************************************************************

John stared through the binoculars, hunched down at the ridge. "Shit. More going in. How many can there be?" he grumbled. Glanced at his watch. Night was falling. A cusp of violet haunting the sky. Progressively drowning the sunlight, the blue sky.

"Any contact with Moira yet?" Rodney asked.

"Negative."

"Colonel Sheppard? This is Teyla. Lorne and Josephes are secure. Repeat, Lorne and Josephes are secure. We can't fly to the 'Gate. It's covered by several men."

"They're guarding the 'Gate? Why?" Rodney wondered.

"They're waiting. For me. Major Lorne?"

"Sir?" Evan asked over the comm.

"Maintain position. Stay cloaked. Maintain comm silence. I'll contact you in an hour. Copy?"

"Yes, sir. Lorne out."

"Now what? We can't return to Atlantis. We can't go in there," Rodney observed, shrugging.

John sighed. "At least our people are secure. Two of them. So we wait. Moira will contact me."

"And if she doesn't? John?" Rodney touched his arm, as John was turned inward.

"She will. She will," he said quietly, eyes glued to the building again.

***********************************************************************

Moira stared round the lab, eying the various instruments, equipment. Body parts. Wraith parts. Gruesome tools. She couldn't contact John. The men were everywhere, pacing. Glaring. Talking in low tones. Waiting as she was for Clarkson to regain consciousness.

"He's awake."

Moira hastened to Clarkson's side. Touched his brow as the man eyed her. "Clarkson? Steve? How do you feel?"

"I...O'Meara? What happened?"

"Unstrap the arm," the doctor ordered.

Moira unstrapped the reattached limb. Noted the raised guns. Met Clarkson's puzzled, clear-eyed gaze. "Can you feel this?" She touched his hand.

"Yes. Was I injured?" He moved his fingers.

"Raise and lower your arm," she instructed.

He did so. Bent it. Looked at it. "Was it broken?"

"How does it feel?"

"Tingles...but okay...I..." He flexed his hand.

The doctor smiled. "Total regeneration. That is astounding! The procedure works!"

"So you'll let us go?" Moira asked. Bullets. She fell back as they thudded into Clarkson. "No! No!"

"Kill him. We don't need him anymore." The doctor moved to a man who reported in quiet tones.

"No!" she cried, scrambling to her feet as another bullet splayed into Clarkson's head. Killing him. But his arm kept moving in an awful parody of life. "You didn't have to do that! The procedure worked! You didn't–"

"Hmm..." The doctor nodded, "Seems this Sheppard guy isn't as keen as Ford thought. He still hasn't shown. We can't wait around for him. Let's move the timetable. We go now."

"Go? Where?" Moira asked, staring at Clarkson's lifeless body.

"Have the 'Gate secured. Prepare to depart. Take her to her cell until we move her off-world. Prep the arm and supplies for transport. We can't do this here."

"No! No, you can't!" she protested, but was dragged out of the lab.

*************************************************************************

"Something's happening." John stared through the binoculars. Saw three men dragging a body. Dumping it outside. They returned to the building. John zoomed in on the corpse. "It's Clarkson," he noted dourly.

"They killed him? Why?" Rodney asked.

John shrugged. "Don't know. Here come more." He watched a phalanx emerge, carrying supplies, crates. Guns. "Looks like they're on the move."

"Where?"

"If I knew that I could intercept them, couldn't I?" he remarked acidly.

"Sweetie?" Moira said softly. She stood in the back of her cell. "Sweetie, copy?"

John had scooted halfway down the ridge. "Baby, baby, copy. Moira, you okay?"

"Yes, John. Clarkson...he's–"

"Dead, yeah. I know. What's going on?"

"They're moving. Off-world. To Ford. John, they're going to take me with them," she informed her sadly. As if she was resigned to it.

"No. I'm coming, honey. Where are you?"

"The cell. Three levels down. John, there are too many," she warned, relieved at his confidence.

"Let me worry about that. I'm coming, Moira. Keep this channel open."

"Okay, John. Be careful."

John ran up the ridge. "Rodney, I've got to go now."

"What? You can't!" the scientist exploded. "You're way outnumbered and even if I went with you we would still be–"

"They're going off-world and want to take Moira with them! If they take her through the 'Gate I may never find her." He eyed the building. "It's better if I go alone. Give me thirty. If we're not out by then radio Lorne, have him come here as back-up. Got it?"

"Yes. John...good luck. I've got your back."

John briefly smiled. "Thanks."

John ran down the ridge, gun ready. He carefully circled, made his way to the entrance. Unchallenged. He entered. Froze hearing voices. He made his way down, around. Following the stairs. Paused to view a room full of weapons. Ducked into the shadows as more men passed. Carrying supplies, voices low and serious. He paused again as he reached the third level. "Baby, start talking," he instructed.

Moira froze from her pacing as his voice sounded in her ear. "Sweetie? John." She moved to the front of the cell. "I'm three levels down. There's a long tunnel past a room full of, full of armaments and ordnance. There are levels below me. They're moving all of the medical equipment."

"I've got you, Moira, keep talking. I'm almost to you." John started to jog down the next flight of stairs. Alert.

"John? What about Evan and Aaron?"

"Safe. Secure." He reached the room suddenly, saw her in the cell. He took a step but froze, hearing men behind him. Swiftly he darted in, ducked and hid as two men entered. Almost on his heels.

Moira stared as the men advanced. "What do you two heavily armed men want at my cell?"

"It's time," one announced.

"Shouldn't we wait?" she countered. "Wasn't that part of Ford's plan? To catch–"

"We don't have time to wait for that Sheppard guy. If he's not coming we may as well cut our losses and go. The procedure's more important than some personal vendetta."

"We should wait," she argued, as the door was opened. "He'll be here. Sheppard. He will come for me."

"Apparently not." The man laughed. "Ford said he'd be here as soon as you didn't report in. Guess he's not as keen as Ford believed."

"Oh, I'm as keen. Even more so since I'm already here." The two men whirled at John's voice. He stood. "Hi. I'm that Sheppard guy." He shot them before they could react. Moira stumbled backwards as they two men fell to either side of her. John rushed to her. "Moira? Moira, are you..." He saw the bruised, bloody corner of her mouth.

"John..." she stared, then suddenly hugged him. "John! You won't believe what they did!"

"Later, sweetheart, let's go. Grab a gun." John snatched one, snatched another and handed it to her. "This way. We–"

"Lower your weapons!"

John inwardly cursed. He slowly turned to see two men. "Okay, okay, don't get trigger happy. I'm that Sheppard guy your leader wants. Okay?" John lowered his weapons. Moira lowered hers, standing behind him.

"Really? How did you–" wondered one.

"Later! This way, slowly!" ordered the other.

"Okay." John raised his hands. "Moira, give me five seconds. Distract them," he muttered.

"What? How?" she asked as she stepped next to him.

John glanced at her. "Pert."

"What? John, John...you can't be..." she realized, becoming angry.

"Move it now!"

John nodded, stepping slowly over one of the men he had killed. "We're coming, we're coming. Pert," he repeated.

Moira sighed. "You owe me, flyboy," she muttered. She moved ahead of him, to the side. "Oh! Wait! You'll need my medical samples of the regenerative properties for Ford," she lied, turning. Leaning over as she swung her hips.

John smiled as the two men's eyes went inevitably to her, to her rear. He dropped, grabbed a gun. Fired at both within seconds. Moira whirled, ducked, but both men went down nearly at the same time. John moved to them. Shot each once to finish them. He kicked their guns aside. Turned back to see Moira staring at him. He smiled. "Damn, baby, I am listing that pert little ass of yours as my personal ordnance."

"John! You...you...how did you..." She looked from one dead body to the other.

"Sweetheart, any male with a pulse will want to look at that pert little–"

"Shut up, John! Go!"

"Go? Oh, yeah, go." He grabbed her hand. "Stay close to me!" He tapped his earpiece, his radio. "Rodney, we're coming! Hold position! Keep the door open!" They ran out of the room. Nearly crashed into each other as several men were running towards them, down the stairs. "Shit! Reverse!" He fired at them, then shoved her ahead of him. "Go!" They rounded the corner, down more stairs.

"We need to go up, not down!" she complained.

"You know I like going down!" he quipped, on her heels. He spun round, fired. "There!"

"No! That's the lab, a dead-end!" she protested, moving past it.

"Crap." He whirled again, firing, shoving her into a doorway. "Where then? I can't hold them off forever! Moira! Where?" he asked, risking a glance at her.

She was looking round, met his gaze. "I...I don't know, John..."


	4. Chapter 4

The Lazarus Effect4

"John? Sheppard, copy?" Rodney tapped his earpiece. Fiddled with his radio as static crackled. He hunched down, watching several more men emerge from the building at a brisk trot. While others ran back inside, guns raised. "Great. Lorne, how's the 'Gate?"

Evan responded, "Busy. I can't contact the colonel. I don't know whether to intercept or to let them go. Where–"

"Still below...I can't either. I think you'd better come to me and help me rescue him."

"Negative. His orders were to stay on the gate for another thirty–"

"Screw that! He may need help now! He's way outnumbered! Lorne, copy? Lorne?" Rodney sighed, raised the binoculars again.

*************************************************************************

"Rodney? McKay, copy?" Evan sighed. "Comm's down. Some kind of interference."

"You heard the man. We need to go help Sheppard," Ronon stated.

"We need to get back to Atlantis and retrieve reinforcements. Lieutenant Josephes needs medical attention now!" Teyla argued, pressing her hands over fresh bandages. That were soon becoming bloody. "I cannot halt the bleeding!"

"We're going no where while that wormhole is engaged," Evan dourly noted. "Until I hear otherwise we wait here for thirty, per the colonel's orders."

"We need to help McKay!" Ronon argued. "I'll go!"

"No! We are following Colonel Sheppard's orders, got it?" Evan met Ronon's glare with one of his own. "That's how we do things around here."

***************************************************************************

"Today, Moira!" John called, firing again. Bullets pinged in response, striking the wall around him, over him as he crouched. "Moira!"

"Hang on!" Moira was searching the corridor, trying to find a way out, any way out of their predicament. Only finding rooms that were dead-ends, no other points of entry or exit. She shoved past a heavy door that barely budged. "John! I see light! Daylight but–"

"Good enough! Go!" He fired wildly, nearly getting hit himself as he stood. Whirled and ran after her. "Go, go, I'm on your six!" He squeezed past the door, paused to try to shove it closed but it refused to budge. "Damn it. Go!" He fired, dropped the empty gun and hefted his P90.

"John! There's an opening! A..a street?"

"A what?" John raced to her, collided with her as she was frozen in place, staring. She nearly fell but caught herself. John stared, righting himself before he crashed both of them into the opening. "What the hell?" he muttered.

A street curved away from them. Paved. Brick lined walls on each side. Leading to another street where shops could be glimpsed. A couple passed, in antiquated clothing. Familiar to both as John and Moira were speechless, staring. The sound of a car horn could be heard.

Gunfire erupted behind them. Voices. Angry. John turned, fired. "We don't have a choice. Go."

"What?"

"Go!" He shoved her, followed. His boots clomped on the paved street.

Moira stumbled, whirled. "They're following!"

John turned to see the men running after them. "Shit! Go, go!" He grabbed her hand, ran with her up the street. Around the corner. Into a congested street full of people, of cars tooting. Men in three-piece suits and hats. Women in long skirts and blouses. The cars were old, rattling model-Ts and early Fords chugging along. Shops lined with all manner of goods and services.

Gunfire. People screamed. Dove for cover. "This way!" John ran with her into another street, down an alley. Tried doors on the way.

Moira was racing with him but slowing to stare round, amazed at the sights. The sounds. The smells. "John, John, what could this possibly–"

"Later, Moira! Damn it!" He stopped, finally shot at a door. Kicked it open. "In!" He pushed her into the building, followed and slammed the door shut. Grabbed a chair to brace against it. Stood waiting, gun at the ready. Waited. "Give me some intel!"

Moira rushed through the apartment, entered the next room. The bedroom. It was empty. Modestly furnished. She recognized the furniture styles, the nineteen twenty decor and fixtures. "John, where the hell are we?" She crossed to the window, peered round the curtain. People were running all over. Policemen darting, rounding up suspects, waving guns. Lights flashing from ancient patrol cars. Red and blue flashes on the brick walls. "Chaos. I don't see those men. Is this real or another simulacrum?"

John relaxed a little. Looked round the room. "A sanctuary? Now we know where all that nineteen twenties ordnance is located. A hidden development? Hidden from the Wraith? A dilation field maybe, but not time. It didn't hurt at all when we ran through the portal, and obviously those men come and go to gather supplies."

"So there should be Ancient tech, right?" She stared out the window. "Quieter now." She started, turned as he joined her, gun lowered. Peered past her out the window.

"Yeah...I think we're safe for now. We need clothes. Dressed like this we'll stick out like a sore thumb. We need to blend in...and I bet those men are doing exactly the same thing."

"To escape capture?"

"Yes. And to gather intel. This place...it's remarkable. Cars! Did you see the cars?" His eyes lit up with boyish glee for a moment.

She smiled. "Yes. Boys and their toys," she fondly remonstrated.

"You got that right, Moira. Finally a civilization with cars!" he enthused. He drew her from the window. Set the P90 on the table. "First, we need to change clothes. Then we'll gather intel. Try to contact Rodney. I left him on the ridge." He moved to an armoire, opened the oaken doors. "Ah. Plenty here. Moira."

She joined him. "Hope it fits," she muttered, grabbing clothes, shoes as he did. She moved to a drawer, opened it. "I wonder who lives here." She grabbed more items. Entered the bathroom and closed the door. "John," she called as she stripped, "where are we going to find intel?"

John looked out the window, began to undress. "Out there. We'll find a hot spot. A watering hole. A...a speakeasy, baby," he grinned. "Learn the lay of the land."

She smiled. "Okay, colonel. About, about what happened to, to Clarkson...the lab...it was horrible."

"That's why you switched off the comm," he stated.

"Yes. Ford's not here. He's on another planet, somewhere. They, they needed my help to reattach his arm. They used Clarkson as a test subject first...they cut off his arm. And using Wraith regenerative tissues and the enzyme reattached it. And it worked, John! It actually worked. He had feeling and could move it and...but..."

"They killed him. Because he was a liability," he finished for her. "They didn't need him any more, Moira. I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to experience that. I'm sorry, but we need to deal wit this later. We need to focus on getting out of here. Okay?" He submerged his own feelings at yet another loss, another man killed.

"Okay, John. I'm sorry about Clarkson. I shouldn't have helped them."

"It wasn't your fault, Moira. Don't blame yourself." He looked at himself in the mirror. Pushed his grim, guilty thoughts aside. He moved to the bathroom, knocked. "Moira?"

"Just a minute, John." She shoved her own guilt and worry aside. The horrible memories of the operation. "I'm not used to garters, garter belts and hose like this."

"Garter...garter...whoa..." John smiled. "I have to see this, baby. Damn."

"Behave, sweetie." She opened the door. "These damn heels are too...oh my..." Moira stared, open-mouthed. John was clad in a three-piece dove gray suit of finely pressed linen and silk. A white tie snaked down into the dapper vest. A brimmed hat perched at an angle on his head. Moira's passionate, rapturous gaze made him smile. A slow smile that made women melt. Moira included.

"Not bad, huh?" he boasted. "The fit's a little snug, but still..." He stepped back, gestured for her to follow him. His gaze locked on her. Moira's hair was bound up on her head. Tendrils escaped to swirl on her bare shoulders. A headband crossed her forehead, matching the plum sparkling dress she wore. A flapper dress with beads trailing down its length to her knees. Plum-colored tights led to high-heeled shoes with sexy straps on the ankles.

Moira smiled as John's gaze became intent, desirous. He motioned for her to turn. She did so slowly. "It's a little tight too, as you can see," she teased, coyly wriggling her rear for him. She turned to face him as the material clung to her breasts, her hips. She lifted the skirt to show him the garter belt on her thigh. Dropped the skirt down with a laugh. "Now don't you go getting any kinky ideas, sweetie. This is strictly for covert ops." She moved past him, grabbed a shawl and draped it over her shoulders. "Although...you are so...so gorgeous in those clothes we should take them back to Atlantis with us." She turned to him.

He smiled, stepped to her. Gently touched her lip. The bruise. "We are definitely taking those garters back, baby." He kissed her. A slow, gentle motion of his mouth on hers. "You are breathtaking, Moira."

"Are you armed, John? You can't take your P90."

"No," he sadly agreed. "But I've got the 9 mil." He opened the jacket, displayed it. Closed the fabric over him. "I've got my earpiece in my hat. You?"

"Yes, it's on me. Concealed."

"Concealed? Where?" His gaze wandered over her.

She smiled. "Never you mind, colonel."

He grinned. "I can imagine, can't I?" He ran a finger along the brim of his hat. Held out his arm. "Shall we, baby?"

She laughed. Took his arm. "I feel like we're going to a costume party, sweetie."

"Let's paint the town red, baby."

They strolled the streets, blending in perfectly with the people. Passing shops. Houses. Cars chugged on the street, tooting their horns. Distracting John several times. Moira rolled her eyes and pulled him along, only to stop to stare into the windows of shops displaying dresses and fantastic hats decorated with flowers and plumage. It was John's turn to roll his eyes and pull her along. All the while keeping an alert gaze on the people. Any undue interest in them. Anyone following them.

"It's remarkable, John! How could the details be so close to the real thing?" she wondered.

"I don't know...unless an Ancient was on Earth back then. To see it, and then recreate it here. Weird."

"Poor Rodney. Here we are in a perfect Star Trek reference and he's not here to say it. Although that episode was set in the nineteen thirties, I think."

John laughed. "Yeah, poor Rodney. Oh well. Hey, hear that?" Music drew them down a street. Round the corner into a crowded club. "Stay sharp," he warned. Led her to an empty table where they sat. Drinks were served. John sipped. "Hmm...gin, I think. Kind of fruity. At least it's not that needle drink. That stuff could kill you. More like bathtub gin with a kick."

"What?" She stared, puzzled. Sipped. "Not bad..."

The club was dark. Smoky. Candles glimmered on every table. Crowded. A singer appeared in a long, shimmering gown of pale blue. Voices were hushed. The piano accompanied her as she began to sing in a husky voice. Moira recognized the song as one of Gershwin's tunes, and lost herself in the lyrics, the melody, the haunting yearning in the song, the voice. The words.

John's gaze darted, taking in the patrons, the building. The waitresses busily serving drinks. The alcohol pungent on the air. The stage where the singer belted out the melancholy song. His gaze narrowed. Lights flashed under the stage. He drank some of the gin, waited. "Did you see that, Moira? Under the stage. A quick flicker of light. Moira? Did you see?" He glanced at her.

Moira was staring at him, chin in her hand, elbow propped on the table. Her gaze intent, loving. Devouring every inch of him. Admiring and amorous. "What? Oh..oh..." She smirked, embarrassed to have been caught. "Sorry, John. I was, I was...what? I was distracted."

He smiled, a desirous anticipation building. "The stage, Moira. Watch near the floor." As she did so he touched her thigh. Gently caressed against the material.

Moira tore her gaze from him, his caress equally distracting. She stared at the stage as the song finished. Applause. "There? That light. It's very brief...but definitely anachronistic. John!" she gasped as his fingers were suddenly under the skirt, against the bare flesh of her thigh.

He smiled as she shoved his hand off her, pushed the skirt down. "Sorry, baby, I couldn't help myself." His gaze wandered down to her breasts. Up to her face. "We need to get closer to that light." He downed his drink. Stood. Held out his hand.

She smiled. Stood. Placed her hand in his. "John?"

"Let's cut a rug, baby. Blend." He led her to a cleared dance floor as several couples danced. Surging with the music. A band was playing, suddenly starting a lively tune. "Damn. We need a slow dance," he complained.

Moira laughed, pulled him into the dancers. "Lighten up, John! It's the Charleston! Step and swing, step and swing, bend your knees, come on!" She began to dance, remembering the steps.

John laughed, imitating her, the dancers around them. The good time, the humor, the music were all infectious. Arms akimbo, knees bending, steps moving faster, faster in time to the music. Applause erupted. A slower tune began. "Ah, that's better." He placed his hand at the small of her back, his other hand entwined with hers. Guiding her towards the stage.

"Wow...you can dance?" she asked, floored.

He smiled. "I'm a quick study."

"Wow...if you'd only sing I'd be yours, sweetie."

"The night is young, baby. Here." He guided them closer, closer. "Get a good look, Moira."

"Wha–" She gasped as he dipped her low. Moira looked as the light blinked. "Um...definitely not native...it's Ancient tech, John, has to be. John?"

John was watching her back arch, while the skirt slid up, up to reveal the garter belt. He righted her. The material slid back into place as he spun her, pulled her against his body. "Ancient, you said?"

"Yes," she agreed, breathless, staring. As the music ended he led her to one side. Glanced round. "Stay here. I'll see if I can get a peek backstage."

"John? How–"

"By employing my considerable charms, baby. Stay right here. Keep an eye out."

Moira watched him cross to the hat check girl, a buxom blond with bouncy short hair. Moira frowned, jealous as she could imagine his charming smile, charming words. Tilting his head and licking his lips. Although she knew it was silly to be jealous. Wondered at it. She scanned the room, seeing no one out of place. No familiar faces either.

"Hey, baby doll, buy you a drink?"

Moira eyed the man sidling up to her. Obviously looking her over. Hair slicked back. "No. Thank you, no."

"Are you sure?" the blond man smiled, raising his eyes finally to meet her gaze. "A pretty baby doll like you shouldn't be alone in a place like this."

Moira smirked. "I'm not alone. I'm with him." She pointed, but John was gone. She silently swore.

"Who? I don't see anybody, baby doll, but you and me. Let's have that drink," he took her arm.

She freed it. "I said no, buddy. My guy will be right back."

"If he's with the hat check Ruby he'll be at least ten minutes, doll. We've all been back on that ride." He laughed. "You, however, are a novelty. New in town, doll?"

"Yes, actually. Now if you'll excuse me." She made to leave.

"Not yet, baby doll. I'm not finished," he said, hand suddenly on her rear.

"Hey! Hands off, buddy!" she snapped, whirling but froze hearing a gun click.

"Get your fucking hand off the lady. Now," John said, voice low, terse. Gun at the man's back.

The man freed her, hands up. "Sorry, buddy! Didn't know she was taken."

"Well now you do. No one touches that pert little ass but me. Got it?"

"Got it!"

"Now scram!" John shoved him. Holstered his gun. Stepped to Moira. "You okay, baby?"

"Fine, John. Where have you...what?" She eyed the brown bags he held.

He smiled. "Dinner. I got us dinner. There's nothing back there, Moira."

"Nothing? Dinner? How did you...how..." She glanced past him to see the hat check girl back in her booth. A smile on her face.

"Hey, baby, I only used my charm. Nothing else. Everything else is for you alone. Let's–"

"Cops! Cops! Cheese it now!" someone yelled.

Police flooded the bar. People screamed, scrambled. John grabbed Moira's hand, led her to run with the others into the night, into the street. Chaos rained. A light rain was falling. "This way!" He pulled her into a run.

"John! Wait! I can't run in these shoes!" She stumbled after him, nearly falling.

"Have to, Moira! The last thing we need is to get busted! Let's go!"

"Busted?" she wondered, trying to keep pace as they sped around the corner. Slowed to a brisk walk down the street. Turned down the alley. John kept glancing over his shoulder, but no one was pursuing them. "John?"

"Here we are. Quickly." He opened the door, ushered her into the apartment. Followed. Closed the door and set the chair against it. Sirens wailed. He thrust the bags into her arms, crossed to peer out the window. "That was close, but I don't think they saw us."

"You mean Ford's men?"

"I meant the cops, yeah. Could be Ford's men. Who knows? Let's eat."

"But you...they..." Moira sighed, set the bags on the table. "Okay. Let's eat."


	5. Chapter 5

The Lazarus Effect5

Moira eyed the contents of the bags. Emptied them, shaking her head. "I don't believe this! Chinese food? Real Chinese food?" She sniffed.

John laughed at her expression, taking a seat at the table. "Yeah, I know. Smells real enough, doesn't it?"

"A beer. Of course." She handed him the bottle.

"Talk about vintage," he jested. "Sorry, sweetheart, no lemonade. Ginger ale."

"Oh." She sat across from him. Took a tentative bite. "Hmm...tastes good." They ate, savoring each bite of the chicken low mein. "John, you didn't see anything back there? Behind the stage?" she asked round a mouthful.

He shook his head, chewing. Took a long sip of beer. "No. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"With the hat check girl?"

He smiled, shook his finger at her. "Ah ha, Moira. No need to be jealous, baby. I'm all yours."

"I wasn't jealous," she muttered. They finished. She stood, moved to the window. Peered past the heavy drapes. "It's still raining. So what now?"

"Sex."

She whirled. He smiled. Stood. Walked over to her slowly, gaze wandering over her. He removed his hat. Spun it on his finger. Tossed it to land on the hat rack. He grinned. "John?" she asked. Gave roving over him. Marveling.

"I can't resist this, Moira. I cannot ignore this perfect opportunity."

"Opportunity? What? Oh...you mean the gangster and the moll?" she teased.

He laughed. "Exactly, baby." He kissed her, pulling her gently into his arms. "Ever since you said the word garter I've had a hard-on," he teased into her ear.

"John! You can't be–"

"Serious?" he finished for her. "Always, baby, about sex." He pulled the headband from her. Pulled her hair free from the precarious bun. Ran his fingers in the cascading waves. "The way you've been looking at me, Moira? Please...you want it as much as I do. We're safe here. Holed up for the night. On the lam. We have all night to–"

"On the lam?" she questioned. Stared at him even as her hands slid up his chest to his shoulders. "John, you're loving this, aren't you?" she accused. Gaze narrowing in suspicion.

He smiled. "Yeah, I am. I'm loving you, Moira." He kissed her again. "Does your lip hurt?"

"No." She returned his kiss, succumbing to his charms, his affection. The desire like a living thing humming between them. "Oh John," she dreamily whispered.

"Oh yes, Moira. This is going to be such a turn-on."

"Is this one of your fantasies, colonel?"

"It is now, baby." He kissed her. A slow, sweet kiss. Lingering. Taking his time, opening her lips to his as his hands wandered. Along her sides to her hips. His mouth moving across her cheek, down her throat.

Suddenly Moira was pushed against the wall. She murmured as his kisses wandered. As he drew the dress open. As his hand slid in to free a breast, to caress. To tease the hardening nipple as his mouth caught hers again. Again. Until she murmured, hands running up his chest, his arms, his sides as he freed her breast. Bent to move his mouth there. Moira gasped, moaned softly, losing herself. Fingers in his hair as his tongue swirled. Lips pulling, teasing. His hands ran down to push under the dress, up her bare thighs. His hand slid between her legs, encountering her panties. He caressed. Rubbing his knuckles along the cleft. Over and over. And over.

Moira whimpered. "Oh John,"she whispered, shifting. Squirming. Rear hitting the wall. He straightened, catching her mouth again. Fingers gliding up to her waist, into the panties now. Probing. She gasped, shifted. Clutched his shoulders. "John!"

"You can be as loud as you want to be, Moira. It's just us," he said into her ear. Voice husky. Breathy. "Give me all of your wild exuberance. I want you loud, baby. Loud!" He yanked down the panties. They slipped to her ankles. She stepped out of them as he kissed her. Pushed her against the wall. His hands flew to his pants. Fumbled. "Shit. Haven't they invented fucking zippers yet!" he complained.

Moira softly laughed. "Let me, sweetie." She kept kissing him, moved her hands to his. To slowly unbutton the pants. Felt his very hard erection pushing. Straining. "Oh John...you weren't kidding!"

"No, baby, I wasn't,"he agreed. Grabbed her hands, shoved them away to yank down the pants, the shorts. Shoved her into the wall, kissing her passionately. Pushed her thighs apart, brushing her intimately. "So fucking wet," he growled happily. He caught her wrists, pinned her. Thrust up, in.

Moira gasped, moaned, bending her knees slightly as he grunted, thrusting up, up, up. "Oh John, John," she said breathlessly, shifting as he groaned. Body straining in hers. He kissed her, shoving her against the wall, up, up as he repeatedly entered her. She freed her hands to grab his arms, whimpering as the desire spiraled, spiraled. Each thrust rubbing, shoving. "Oh John, oh John!" she breathed as the orgasm spiraled so close, so close.

John groaned, coming but not enough. He pulled out, breathing heavily. Moira hugged him, kissing him. Squirming her body against his. "Ah, baby, the leverage isn't...damn..." he complained.

"It's fine, sweetie, you–"

"No! You haven't come, and you always come. Always! Hell, I barely came. Shit! I'm still hard as a...ah."

"What?" she asked to the sudden sparkle in his brilliant green eyes.

He smiled. "Turn."

She eyed him. Hesitated. Turned to face the wall. "John?"

"I want you like this. Against the wall. Loud. Make it loud, baby, and I will bring you." He licked his lips, considering. Ran his hands down her hips. Lifted the dress to bare her rear, the garter belts on each thigh. He groaned softly as the tension grew unbearably heavy, unbearably tight. He pulled her out a bit from the wall. Ran his hands over her rear, gently squeezed.

"John? You–" she gasped as he grabbed her wrists, shoved them against the wall, causing her to lean. He thrust inside her. Groaned. She tensed over him, around him. Then loosened, tensed as he thrust, thrust slowly. Deeply. Moira moaned with each motion.

John grunted. Grunted with each thrust. Harder. Deeper. Moira whimpered with each spasm, each thrust as the pleasure spiraled, spiraled. She clutched the curtains as he began to move faster. Coming fast, hard. He freed her wrists. One hand on her hip, guiding her. The other slipped round to her waist, then down. Fingers rubbing along the very front of her mound, probing the cleft as he kept thrusting. Harder. Quicker. Deeper. Fingers probing now. "Moira, fuck, fuck, fuck!" he enthused loudly, coming swiftly. Spasms of pleasure, of release erupting.

Moira cried out as the unbearable pleasure built, built. Heard his profanity escalating, knew it meant he was coming quick and hard. Strange gasping sounds escaped her lips as he rubbed, rubbed her in new places, seemed to be everywhere at once. Fingers sliding, sliding. Cock thrusting, thrusting. "John! Oh John, John, John!" she cried. The orgasms slamming into her. The climax doubled as he pleasured her twice. She nearly screamed at the physical escalation.

"Moira! Oh God! Moira!" he nearly shouted, spurting on a tide of orgasmic release, possession. Unable to stop as the pleasure thudded, thudded wildy. Vividly between them as he shuddered in her, on her.

"John! John, fuck me, John, fuck me! John, John, John!" Moira cried, arching, stuttering, not even aware of what she was saying. Nearly in tears as the pleasure was excruciating. The double orgasm breathless. Relentless. "Strawberries," she whispered, about to pull down the curtains as she clung to them for dear life.

John didn't hear her. So intent on the pulsing pleasure, the snug tightness clenching him. Clenching him tightly. Straining, then loosening as he thrust deeper, harder. Her wetness slick. He was spurting messily. Sweat trailing down their backs, their sides. "Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Moira, my own Moira!" he said passionately, finally reaching the limits of his own endurance. The last straining orgasm. The last thrust.

"John! John, please! Please, strawberries!" she gasped, unable to catch her breath.

He stopped, hearing her. Leaned on her, hand finally moving from her cleft to slide up to her breasts. "Moira..." He kissed her bare shoulder, voice harsh. Gruff. "Shit...I didn't hear you, baby. Did I hurt you?"

She felt him tense, still inside her, causing another wave of pleasure as he moved. She tried to catch her breath. "No, John...I just need a, a...rest..." She laughed weakly.

He smiled. Kissed her shoulder again. Stroked her side. "Are you sure? I didn't hurt you? Moira, are you all right? Baby...what's so funny?"

"You. Being so solicitous...when your cock is still inside me..." He weakly chuckled as she snorted. "I can't believe I said that!"

"Deep inside you, baby. Clenched and drained," he agreed. Kissing her shoulder, her cheek. Leaning on her body. "Give me a sec, baby...damn...I've never had an orgasm quite like that. So sustained...I bet you never, never had a double like that, baby. You screamed my name!"

"No post-coital talking, remember?" Moira sagged against the wall as he finally slipped out of her. Sat on the floor, back against the wall. He pulled up his shorts, his pants. Tilted his head back as the pleasure pulsed, pulsed. He looked at Moira, touched her bare thigh. Fluids trickling down her skin. The scent of sex, of lust in the air. Heavy.

Moira nearly collapsed to her knees. She sat next to him, pulling the dress over her. Folding her legs under her as she snuggled next to him. His arm encircled her. He kissed her gently, tilting her head up to his.

After several kisses he stroked her bare arm. "Ah, baby...that was the best fucking sex I've ever–"

"No talking, remember?" she snapped. Moira was flushed. Embarrassed at her exuberance. At his. Their loudness. The things she had said, shouted, demanded. The way he had taken her, the double pleasuring. The raw sex.

John smiled. Kissed her brow as she scooted against him. Head on his chest. Arm over his waist. "Fuck that was hot...your pert little ass and those garters...shit..."

"John, shut up, will you?" she snapped.

"Sorry, baby." He kissed her brow again. "I've got to get out of these clothes. I'm all hot and sweaty."

She moved free, stood, taking his hands. Tugged. He stood, let her lead him to the bed. He sat. She sat, leaned down to unstrap the shoes. "At least I can finally take off these fucking shoes! My feet are killing me!" She kicked them off her feet.

"Does your foot hurt, baby?"

"Yes! They both do, sweetie. From those shoes, the running...not the cramping. The dancing." She smiled. "I loved the dancing!"

"Here, lay back. It's the least I can do," he offered, running his hand down her thigh.

Moira reclined on the bed, scooted up a little until his hold on her ankle stopped her. "It better be the least, sweetie." He laughed. "I'm serious, John. Another orgasm could kill me."

"Death by pleasure? Me too, baby." He touched her foot, began to massage gently. Smiled as she relaxed, murmured appreciatively. "Better?"

"Yes, sweetie. Oh that feels good, so good," she purred. Started as he hands ran up her leg to the garter, pushing the dress out of the way. He kissed her inner thigh, unhooked the belt. Ran his mouth down where the belt had been. The flesh was tender. She moaned, shifted. "John."

"Easy, baby...I have to do this." He slowly slid the stocking off her leg. He took her other foot, massaged gently, careful of the scars. She relaxed, his touches alluring, tender. Soothing. Arousing as he slid his hands up to the garter. Unhooked the belt, let his mouth kiss down, down, then slid off the other stocking. He ran his mouth up her thigh, slipped off both garters. Ran his mouth up further, higher.

"John, John...no, you...oh," she gasped

He slid up her body, kissing her mouth. Hand pulling the dress off one shoulder. Yanking the bra down to caress, kiss a breast. "Moira," he said, voice low, loving. Hungry.

She pushed him, sat and covered her breast. Scooted to the edge of the bed. Stood. "Let me undress you."

He smiled, sat and swung his legs over the side of the bed. She straddled his lap. He moaned appreciatively. She kissed him gently, soft kisses as she loosened his tie. Pulled it off him. As she unbuttoned his vest. Opened and removed it. She smiled. Hands running up his chest. "So many layers, John," she complained.

"I know, Moira. Too many buttons," he agreed. Kissing her as she rocked on his lap.

Moira kissed him. Ran kisses along his jaw, to his ear. Circling the way he liked. Ran her mouth down his throat as she unbuttoned the shirt. She opened it. Hands running along his naked chest, fingers tugging teasingly at his chest hair. She kissed him again as his hands caressed her sides, her thighs, tugging at the dress. Her fingers stroked up to his hair, along his jaw to guide his mouth to hers again. She stood. "Scoot."

He scooted up on the bed, happily sighing. Relaxing as she removed his shoes, his socks. "This bed is hard. Harder even than mine," he noted. Frowning.

"Harder? I didn't think anything could be harder than you, sweetie," she teased, pulling off his pants. She stared. "John?" She sat near him, touched his shorts. They were black silk.

He grinned at her surprise. "I was hoping we'd have a chance for you to fulfill your promise, baby. Remember? I sure did."

"I, I thought you didn't have any–" she stammered, suddenly coloring despite the intense intimacy they had just enjoyed.

"No. I didn't want to discuss my underwear during sex, remember? Well?" He smiled. "Do whatever you want, Moira. I'm yours for the taking. So take me, baby. Take me hard."

"Hilarious, John." She leaned close, kissed him. Kissed him repeatedly, then worked her way down his jaw, his throat, his chest. Trailed wetly on his waist. Lower. He groaned, fingers clenching the blankets. She caressed, stared up at him. "Damn, sweetie...already?"

"Anticipation, baby," he explained. "Go down on me, baby, please...please..." His fingers pulled at the dress as she slid up to kiss him. Pulled to expose her rear as she snaked down, down. He could see her breasts as they brushed him.

Moira caressed. Braced herself. Kissed against the boxers. John groaned. The fabric was cool. He was hot underneath. The fabric was soft, melting in her mouth. He was hard, growing harder, bigger. She ran her mouth along the shaft, fingers teasing between his legs. He groaned loudly, arched, shifting as her wet tongue tormented, tantalized. He nearly sat, grunting as her mouth captured him. Caught the head and sucked. Hard.

"Fuck! Fuck, oh fuck! Moira, oh Moira oh fuck!" he exclaimed, thrusting, staring at her. Coming so hard, so fast he jerked in her mouth, spasms shivering. Moira freed him. Brown eyes wide, face hot. She pulled down the shorts and grabbed him with her hands, squeezing, stroking as he came, came in a shuddering rush. Groaning expansively.

Moira freed him when he was done. Had fallen back, body still. She wiped her hands on the bed, sat. "Geez, John!" she stammered, embarrassed. Aroused. Her body thrumming. Wet. Tingling in response to his. Echoing every pulse, every throb he had enjoyed.

John caught his breath, laughed. "Moira! Moira, that was fantastic! Moira, your mouth is fucking amazing!" he declared. "You are so fucking close to going down completely!"

"Shut up, John!" She turned as he sat, kissed her. Kept kissing her as he yanked the dress up, up, lifted it off her body as she squirmed. He unhooked the bra and threw it across the room. "Ah...clever," he noted, as the earpiece fell out of the fabric. He moved her onto her back. "My turn, baby, to return the favor."

"No, John, no, I couldn't take another–" she protested.

He kissed her. "You will, baby. You are more than ready."


	6. Chapter 6

The Lazarus Effect6

John smiled. Kissing Moira in a slow but determined seduction. Caressing her breasts. Slow, languorous kisses to open her mouth to his. His tongue pushed but she murmured.

"No, John, no tongue," she gasped.

He smiled. "Whatever you want, baby." He kissed her gently, ran his mouth along her cheek. Nibbling her earlobe until she squirmed, murmured, sighing in desire. He kissed down her throat. Then circled each breast, pulling at each hard, rosy nipple. He moved down her waist, licked the scar on her side. Moved lower. Slipped to her inner thigh. Moved up, up. Paused as she lost her breath, shuddering, stuttering. "Moira...say it. I want you to say it."

"John? You...please, please..." she whispered.

"Please what, baby?" he teased, kissing along her waist. Caressing her thigh. Fingers tickling so close, so close. His breath hot on her skin. She arched, gasping. Unable to help herself.

Moira gave herself over to the sensuality. Lost in desire, need. "John, oh John...please...go, go down on me," she whispered breathlessly. Flushing.

He smiled. "My pleasure, and yours, baby." He kissed along her waist, thigh. Abruptly shoved between her legs. Moira arched, fingers clutching the bed as searched, found the nub and sucked, sucked hard. Rubbing ruthlessly as his fingers slid round, under her to grab her rear.

Moira cried out as the orgasm hit, hit, relentless. She writhed wildly. "John! Oh John! John, John, John!" she exclaimed over and over, voice loud, breathless, whimpering as she was rocked, rocked in sharp pleasure.

John freed her, the litany of his name music to his ears, arousal to his body. He slid up, thrust inside her. In and out, steady, faster. "Full throttle, baby, oh Moira...that's it!"

"John! Oh John, John!" she cried, clutching as they were rocking wildly now. The bed creaking as if it would break on its rusted springs. The joining intense, vibrant.

"Sheppard, copy? Sheppard! Do you copy?"

Moira froze, clutching John tightly. John paused, glared at his pants which were next to them on the bed. The earpiece protruding. Intruding with Rodney's irascible voice. Moira relaxed her hold, stroked his arm. "Answer it, John! It's Rodney!"

John cursed. Unwilling to move, to stop. He snatched the earpiece, clicked it almost savagely. "This is Sheppard! What?" he snarled.

"John? Where are you? I haven't heard a–"

"We're fine!"

"What? What are you doing with–"

"Do you really want to know what I'm doing with Moira right now?" he snapped.

"Uh...no..." Rodney gulped.

"Then fuck off!" John switched off the comm unit, threw it to the floor. "Now," he said calmly, meeting her gaze, "where were we? Ah yes." He resumed their momentum.

"John? John, you can't just...John, you, you..." Moira moved with him as he thrust, thrust, filling her. Harder. Faster. Rocking the bed again as he sped, sped towards the climax. Giving himself completely to the momentum, the sex, the driving lust.

Moira writhed, arched, grabbed and dug her fingers into his arms as she came hard. The orgasm slammed, slammed as the bed hit the wall repeatedly. "John! Oh John, John, John!" she cried loudly, shuddering as she melted into a helpless pool beneath him.

"Moira! Oh Moira, fuck, fuck, fuck!" he rejoined gruffly, groaning as he came, came, came. With a last spasm he shook, fell upon her. Breathing heavily. Thoroughly spent. Sated. Satisfied. "Moira." He kissed her. "Baby, baby, what a night! What a fucking sweet night of sex and sex!"

"John, John, sweetie, please..." She pushed. He sighed, freed her, but only moved partially off her. Still pinning her beneath him. Settled. "John?"

"Go to sleep, baby. We'll figure it all out tomorrow. At least we've got a roof over our heads. We'll be fine."

"We...what? We have to get back to Atlantis, John! Ford's men–"

"We're not going anywhere, baby. This is perfect."

"John?" She shook him. "You don't mean–"

He lifted his head to meet her startled gaze. "I do mean, Moira. Come on! This night we could finally, finally be ourselves. Be who we are, baby. No restrictions. No fucking eavesdropping. No discretion. We had everything, Moira. We just had the best sex ever, and could freely express our enjoyment of it. Hell, I gave you a double!"

She covered his mouth with her hand. "We are ourselves, John. Here and in Atlantis. We were too, too wild tonight...we shouldn't have–"

He moved her hand aside. Kissed her. "No." He settled comfortably. "We're going no where, baby. Now go to sleep. We have a lot to figure out tomorrow."

She sighed, puzzled, elated, worried. Relented, stroking his back. Waiting. She knew he would fall asleep quickly, unlike her. Once he was softly snoring she scooted out from under him. Off the bed. Wrapped the shawl around her. Grabbed the earpiece from the floor and moved to the window. Peeked past the curtains at the rainfall. "Rodney? Copy?"

"Huh?" Rodney jerked to his feet, startled. "Moira? Copy? What's wrong? Where the hell are you? John sounded, um, off..."

Moira glanced over her shoulder, hearing a noise. John had shifted onto his side. "I know...he's...I don't know, Rodney. We went through a, a portal."

"A what? In the building? There's no significant energy signature so it can't be a time dilation field. What's going on?"

"Ford's men chased us in here. Rodney, it's incredible! Like a replica of nineteen twenties Earth! We found a place to hide for now. But John...he doesn't want to leave."

"What? Why the hell not? Did something happen to him?"

"No...wait. We were separated at the speakeasy–"

"Speakeasy?"

"–and he went to check some lights we saw...it was Ancient tech and–"

"Ancient tech?"

"Will you stop repeating me? Anyway, maybe something happened in there...he seems fine one minute but the next he's–"

"You need to go back there. Check it out."

"Yes, we will. Tomorrow, we can–" She gasped as she was suddenly embraced. John pulled her against him.

"Hey, baby, who are you talking with? Hmm?"

"Rodney."

"Rodney? Didn't I tell him to fuck off?" John inquired mildly.

"We need him, John! To get us out of here! To see that Ancient tech!"

"No. I told you, baby, we are home." He took the earpiece, tapped it to kill the connection. "I don't like you talking to other men. Especially after sex with me. Got it?"

She turned to him. "We need–"

"To sleep, baby. I'm exhausted. You must be too." He pulled the shawl from her. Led her to the bed.

"No! Do you know who you are? John, who are you?"

"What?" he asked, bemused.

"Who are you?" she demanded, hands on her hips.

He smiled, eyes roving over her naked body, seen dimly in the dark. "I'm your lover, baby. I'm the guy who just gave you a double."

"No! I mean yes, but who are you?" she tested.

He sighed. Met her gaze. He stepped to her. Kissed her. "I'm your John. Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, US Air Force. Want my serial number, baby?"

"And your job?" she asked tersely, not entirely convinced.

He sighed again. "Military commander of Atlantis. Happy now? Come to bed, Moira." He pulled her but she fought, suddenly hitting him. "Hey! You want it rough, do you?" he teased.

"No, John, no! Shut up! How could you do that? How could you do that to me?" she accused. "Make me do those things! Make me say those things! Make me feel those things, those things!" she blamed, hitting, hitting his chest until he caught her wrists. Pulled her against him. "You son of a bitch!"

"Ssh, Moira. I didn't make you do anything, baby. And you enjoyed every minute of it, every delicious, sexual, intimate detail," he argued calmly.

She struggled. "Let go! Let go of me! I hate you, John! I hate you!" But he held her firmly, kissed her. Continued to kiss her, soft, gentle kisses, not surprised at her outburst, her emotion, her reaction after the vigorous, innovative sex. Her embarrassment, her worry. He sighed inwardly, wondering about her hang-ups over sex. Kept kissing her until she quieted. He drew her to the bed.

Moira let him lead her, got into the bed with him. She snuggled against him, clutching, hiding her face against his chest. "I hate you, John," she pouted.

He sighed. "I know, Moira. I know." He kissed her brow, stroking her arm.

"Remember Atlantis? We have to get back. I want to go home," she whispered against his skin. Calming. Her tearless sobs ceasing.

"Later, Moira. We're quite happy here. We have all that we need. Well, almost. Don't you worry, baby, you'll want for nothing."

"Something's wrong, John. Wrong with you. Something happened to you in that back room." She switched topics as confusion and embarrassment, chagrin over the intense sex gave way to more immediate concerns.

"With me? You're the only with the sexual hang-ups, baby. I told you, nothing happened. I only have eyes for you...and other body parts considerably lower," he lewdly teased.

"I meant in the back room! To your mind! Not the hat check girl! The Ancient tech!"

He kissed her, interrupting her frustration. "Later, baby. Go to sleep. I'm too tired to argue. We can talk tomorrow."

She sighed. Snuggled. "John...I don't want to stay here."

"You'll feel differently in the morning, baby. You'll see. Trust me, Moira. This is bliss."

************************************************************************

John woke. He yawned, blearily blinked. Eyed the gray morning light seeping between the heavy curtains. Eyed Moira beside him, her naked body snuggled against his. Finally sound asleep. He smiled. Gently kissed her cheek. Brushed back her messy hair. Recalled her embarrassment, his distress over the wild, exuberant sex. Her frantic cries. Her writhing body. He smirked. Amused. Pleased.

He disentangled himself from her, eyed the room. Rubbed his brow as a slight headache clouded his thinking. He slipped off the bed, moved to where he had hidden his Atlantis clothing. Hesitated. Moved instead to the armoire to choose the period clothing. Moved to the bathroom.

*************************************************************************

Moira stirred, reaching. "John?" she mumbled. Woke abruptly as memory flooded. She sat, clutching the blankets around her. "John? John!" She looked around, saw a note on the table. She jumped out of the bed, moved to it. "Back with breakfast," she read aloud. "What the hell?" Knew he could handle himself, but worried nonetheless. She moved to the bathroom. Saw he had been there.

Quickly she bathed. Pulled on underwear. Pulled on her Atlantis t-shirt. Combed her hair, moved to grab the earpiece. Peeked out the window. The rain was misting, swathing the streets in a gray fog. "Rodney? Rodney, copy?" She waited nervously. "Rodney?"

"Moira? Copy. Are you all right?"

"Evan? Evan!" she smiled, sagged with relief.

"Rodney's asleep. We're outside the portal but we can't access it yet. Should I wake him?"

"No, not yet. You found it, then? Good! I'll need to talk to him when we find the Ancient tech. Find whatever is affecting John."

"Yeah, what's going on? Rodney said the colonel sounded off. Is he all right?" Evan asked, staring at the portal. At the clear shield that blocked it from any sort of penetration.

"I don't know. He seems fine...except he wants to stay here."

"Stay there? To gather more intel?"

"No. I mean he wants to stay here," she explained, not hearing the door open.

John entered, closing the door behind him. Set the bags on the table. Stared as Moira was engrossed in conversation, staring out the window. One hand on the curtain. Wet hair straggling down her back. Down the green t-shirt that fell to her hips. Revealing her lacy pale green panties.

"He seems to want to stay here, like it was home or something," she explained, oblivious to John as he neared, "but he still knows who he is, is aware of Ford's men after us but he's picked up the slang like he belongs here and he sometimes slips into this other persona...I can't quite understand it, Evan. But that Ancient tech must be the cause of his–"

"Again?"

She whirled, startled. Stared. John was clad in another three-piece suit. Wet black trenchcoat. Hat sparkling with rain. His gaze narrowing. "John, I was just–"

"Moira? I really, really don't like you talking to other men. Especially half-naked. Give me." He held out his open hand.

"Gotta go, Evan. I'll call you when we reach the tech." She clicked the comm, shook her head. "No, John. One of us has to keep our heads. And I'm guessing that would be me." She moved past him quickly, trying to ignore how handsome he was in those clothes. She eyed the bags. "How did you–"

He joined her, smiled. "Charm, baby. Oh...and a little persuasion." He opened his coat to reveal the P90. He sat at the table, watching her take out the covered plates. Revealed eggs, pancakes, syrup. Sausages. Two little bottles of orange juice.

She sat across from him. "Wow. John, you didn't, um, kill anyone, did you?"

He laughed. "No."

"You didn't kiss anyone?"

He laughed again. "No, Moira. Eat. Then you need to cover that pert little ass."

"Yeah, yeah, I 'll get my pants and–"

"No. We still need to blend in, lay low. You'll dress accordingly. Garter belts and all."

She glared at him, hearing the salacious tone. But ate the food as he did. "John, we have to go back to that speakeasy."

"Now? It's all closed up. There won't be any activity there until tonight."

She sighed. "We need to investigate the Ancient tech! Remember? The lights? We can break in or you could use your charms to get us in." She stood. "It's important, John."

He was silent. Gaze roving over her. The t-shirt hugging her breasts. The lacy green panties. Her bare thighs. "Fine, Moira," he said at last. "Dress accordingly and we'll go."

"Fine." She moved to the armoire, perused the clothing. "Did you see any of Ford's men?"

"No. We'll have to be extra careful. They're probably sassed our plan and have blended in the same as us. Those hoodlums will be hard to spot away from the regular folk."

"Hoodlums?" she wondered. "At least you remember Ford, and who he is. Don't you?"

"Yes, baby. What, you think I've lost my marbles?"

"Marbles?"

"This is not any flim-flam operation. They're smooth. Running underground, under the radar."

She shook her head. "Okay. I think I got that...geez, between the twenties' slang and your military talk I'll need a translator." She grabbed an outfit, moved into the bathroom. "John, once we get back to Atlantis I am laying down some ground rules. Got it?"

"Got it, baby. You can lay down on me anytime," he teased. Drumming his fingers on the table.

"Hilarious, John!" she called. "Shit!"

"Need my help, Moira?" he offered, moving to his feet.

"No! Stay there. Damn garter hook...how did women put up with these things?" she muttered.

John smiled. Moved to the bathroom door. Peered in. Moira had on a loose, sleeveless beige top, a matching skirt that fell to her ankles. But was unevenly hiked up to her thigh as she adjusted a belt to hook onto the tights. Her hair was braided, rolled into a precarious bun on her head. John stepped to her, saw the line of blood on her pale skin. "Did you hurt yourself, baby?"

She looked at him, startled. "Yes. It's nothing." She wiped at the red line with a tissue.

"Ah, no. Let me kiss it and make it all better, Moira." He knelt, ran his hand along the top of her leg. Leaned in to kiss along her inner thigh, up the scratch.

Despite herself Moira murmured, shifted. Pulled away to lower her leg, let the skirt fall down to her ankles. She stepped into the shoes, caught John's shoulder but he smiled, buckled them for her. "Thank you."

He stood, hands running up her hips to her waist. He drew her close, kissed her. "Moira." He kissed her again. "My Moira. You'll need a coat."

"A what? Oh." She recovered, followed him. She grabbed a long coat, pulled it on and buttoned it. Found a hat to match. She snatched the 9 millimeter, tucked it into one of the coat's wide pockets.

John looked out the window. Turned as she neared.

"Here. In case we get separated." She held out the earpiece.

He took it. "We won't. I'm not letting you out of my sight, baby. Shall we?" He offered his arm, smiled.

She took it, smiled. "This is all very, um, sweet, but I need you to be the colonel now, John."

"I'll be whatever you desire, Moira. Let's go."


	7. Chapter 7

The Lazarus Effect7

John and Moira strolled along the wet streets. The rain fell in a drizzling mist. Masking their footsteps. Turning other people's conversations into dull murmurs of sound. Moira kept a secure hold of John's arm as he threaded them around the people. Across the street, darting in front of a car that tooted its horn at them. He led her to the back of the speakeasy. The red bricks gleamed wetly. He jiggled the padlock. "Sealed tight."

"Can you pick it?" she asked, glancing round. They were alone.

"Do I look like a bootlegger to you?"

"Bootlegger?" she questioned.

"I could shoot it, but that might raise a ruckus." He considered. Knocked. Three times. Twice. Three times again.

"John?" Moira asked, glancing up the alley.

Locks tumbled as they were turned. The door opened. "John! You did come!" the hat check girl enthused. "You...oh?" She stared, seeing Moira.

John smiled. "Yeah, toots, I decided to take you up on that offer."

"Why did you bring her then?"

"She's part of the package, doll." John led Moira into the room, shut the door. "All right, show me what you've got.

"For you, handsome, I've got everything you could possibly–"

Moira snorted, freed John's arm. "Can it!" She pulled the gun, pointed it at the hat check girl. "Cut the crap, toots! Show us the Ancient tech. Now!"

The girl squealed, raised her hands. "I ain't got no money!"

"Moira?" John asked, seemingly puzzled.

"Move!" Moira ordered. The girl skittered across the room. Moira followed. John followed on her heels.

"Don't get antsy! I swear we did nothing! All's I wanted was a kiss from those sweet sugar lips, that's all I got! He wouldn't do no more so I showed him the lights!"

Moira glared at John. "You–"

He held up his hands. "Honey, I swear, she kissed me. It didn't mean a thing! I only want you, baby. You."

"God I'll be glad to leave this place!" she snapped. Turned back. Lowered the gun. She stared at the device. The crystals glinting in a familiar rectangular-shaped podium. Almost like a DHD but thinner. "John, is this it? John?"

He moved to her side. Nodded. "Yes. I think so...I don't quite remember..." He rubbed his temple, frowning.

"No wonder, handsome, with your hands up my skirt and your–"

"I didn't! Stop lying!" he protested.

"Shut up!" Moira snapped to both. She stepped closer. Closer. Suddenly the lights flared. She backpedaled. The lights faded. "Shit. It's triggered by proximity. John, how close did you get? John?"

"Close enough to touch under my skirt up to my–"

"I did no such–"

"The machine, you idiot!" Moira clarified. "How close?"

John shrugged. "Close enough to touch, I think. I don't..." He rubbed his brow.

"Remember? Wonderful," she acerbically commented. She tapped the earpiece. "John, turn on your comm. The earpiece?" She sighed. Stepped to him and tapped it. Moved back. "Rodney, copy? Rodney?"

"Moira? Copy! Are you–"

"That Rodney guy again?" John asked.

"Sheppard? John, what the hell is–"

"Focus!" Moira ordered. "Rodney, we are at the device. It resembles a narrow DHD with crystals emitting a light show when I step close to it." She neared it. The lights flared, colors cascading. Mesmerizing. She backpedaled again. Glared at John who was staring. "Rodney, it's a light show, colors...patterns...I can't hear anything but it could be an inaudible pulse."

"Stay away from it, both of you!" Rodney ordered, glancing at Evan. "From what you're describing it sounds like a machine not dissimilar to one in the SG-1 files. It affects the biochemical make-up of the brain. Increasing feelings of well-being, of stasis, of endorphin levels."

"Endorphin...well, that explains a lot," she muttered, glancing at John again. He was listening, gaze moving from the machine to her. To the room.

Moira stared at the device. "Is it harmful?"

"Yes. With repeated exposure. It can become addictive, especially if there is an auditory component. How do you feel?"

"Fine. I still want to get out of here."

"What about John? How long was he exposed to it?"

"I don't know...let me think. He was gone for...let's say...ten minutes? Maybe more...and I think he stood awfully close to it."

"John? John, how do you feel?" Rodney asked.

"Rodney? Fine, I'm fine...just a slight headache," John answered, downplaying the pain as it seemed to increase as he spoke.

"It's the proximity. You need to get him out of there, Moira."

"Okay, Rodney. Can we shut it off?"

"Can you get close enough?"

"No. Damn it! If I get close it activates. Great. What if John shot it?"

"No! We don't know what that will do, Moira! It could shut down the whole system, maybe even the portal permanently! Whatever you do don't shoot it!"

"Shoot it?" John asked, fingering his weapon.

"No, John!" Moira and Rodney said at the same time.

"That's it. I'm coming through...once I can open the–"

"No! McKay, no one else is to enter the portal! Major Lorne!" John barked past the pain in his head, voice stern. "No one is to enter the portal. That is a direct order, do you copy?"

"Yes, sir," Evan agreed, glancing at Rodney, shrugging.

"The last thing we need is to compromise our position here and jeopardize more of our people getting stuck here. Status?"

"Planet's clear of Ford's men, sir, as far as we can tell. Delta squad is on planet, awaiting your orders. Beckett's taking a look at the lab here."

"Carson?" Moira asked. "Tell him the procedure worked! Clarkson–"

"Body's recovered, Moira. He–"

"Excuse me, major, were you reporting to me, or to her?" John curtly inquired.

"Sorry, sir. We're holding position here."

"Yes, until further orders."

"John, you need me! I am coming through the–"

"Negative, McKay! You are on my team and will follow my orders! Sheppard out!"

Moira stared. Relieved at his resumption of his normal personality but alarmed at his anger, his insistence. She reached up to her ear but John strode to her, snatched the earpiece away from her. Shoved it into his pocket. He inadvertently stepped closer to the machine and the lights flared. Colors pulsing, weaving.

"No, no!" She pulled him out of range. "John, please! John!" But he was staring at the device, squinting, then relaxing as the pain in his head lessened. "John?" She pulled but he was impossible to budge. Strength and muscle unmovable. She stepped in front of him, trying to block his view. Suddenly kissed him. Opening her lips to his, inviting his tongue to play. Her arms sliding up around his neck. Body squirming along his. Finally she was able to move him back, back. The lights faded.

John caught her, moved her rapidly to the wall, pushed her against it and kissed her. Shoving his body into hers. His hand slid to pull up the skirt. Pulling up, up, fingers brushing bare skin.

Moira caught her breath. Pushed. Pushed. "John! John, not now! Not here! John...strawberries! Strawberries," she repeated even as his fingers were gliding along her panties now. His mouth nibbling down her throat.

He freed her, met her gaze. "Huh? What? Moira?"

"I need you to be Colonel John Sheppard. Please."

He turned suddenly. Noises. A door was banged. Voices raised. "Looks like toot's gave us away."

"What?" Moira glanced round, saw they were alone. "Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe because you were waving a piece in her face," John sarcastically noted. "We should have done it my way."

She snorted. "Your way? I've seen your way, sweetie, and you are so in the doghouse now."

He smiled. "Come on!" He grabbed her hand. "Time to go."

They ran across the room. He whirled, pulled out the P90. Fired as men poured into the room. "Go, go, go!" he shouted, shoving her out the door. He followed. They ran across the street. Bullets flew, pinging all around them. Voices raised in anger, alarm. John shoved her into a wall, whirled and fired. Blocking her behind him.

"John!" she yelped as he turned, pushed her.

"Go, go, go!"

She ran. He ran after her, ducking, dodging. Into another street. "Moira!" he shouted, grabbing her back before a car hit her. They fell, rolled. People screamed. Sirens wailed. Bullets flew. John rolled, firing. Moira fired the 9 millimeter next to him. Tires screeched. "Come on!" He jumped to feet, hauled her off the ground and they ran. Flew around a corner.

Moira stumbled, cried out. Nearly fell but John whirled, catching her. "John! My foot...cramps..." she winced.

"Shit. Here, lean on me, sweetheart." He tried to keep her moving but she staggered. Foot twisting under her.

Moira glanced behind them. Men were running towards them. She met John's gaze. "Go! Go!"

"Like hell–"

"Go! Go now! Turn back and find me! Go!" she insisted, shoving him. "Use your earpiece!" She snatched hers from his pocket. "Go!"

"Stop! Stop or we'll shoot!"

John cursed, about to fire but Moira shoved him into an open doorway. Slammed the door shut and whirled, blocking it with her body. Only to fall as her foot cramped under her. She slid the earpiece over her ear, hid it with her hair. "I surrender! I surrender! Don't shoot!" she cried, hands in the air. She watched the men swarm around her. Drag her from the door. One kicked it open and cautiously entered.

Moira waited, tense, on her knees, hand still in the air as she heard sounds of crashing. Searching. Cursing. The men emerged. "He's gone! Where–"

"Doesn't matter." The doctor stepped to her. "He'll either follow us or forget us. Either way we have her. Get up!"

Moira struggled to her feet, noting they were all dressed in the period costumes. Blending just as John had surmised. "If you are leaving this place I'm more than ready."

"Are you? We'll see about that. Let's go."

Moira staggered, wincing. "My foot...look, I'm not pretending! I can't–"

"Take her. Let's go!" Two men caught her arms, dragged her into a walk. "Keep a sharp eye out. Though if he's seen the light he won't want to leave."

"You know? About the light?"she asked, trying to walk. Pain throbbed in her foot.

"Yes. We lost four men to it before we realized the affects. Now we steer clear of it."

"So you don't know what this place is either," she realized. Glanced at a street sign. "Delancy Street," she said aloud for John's benefit. "How did you find this?"

"By chance. The advanced tech is unlike any other in this galaxy. But Ford...he recognized it as being from his home world. So we harvest the weaponry and supplies from time to time. As long as we blend in we are safe."

"Safe? Safe from what?" Moira looked up again as they veered down an alley. "Cutter's Row. Safe from–"

"Whatever built this place. Keeps it running. Tell me, did that Sheppard guy have a lot of exposure to the lights?"

"Why?" she asked.

"He'll be happy here. They all are. We tried bringing one of our men back. Had to do it by force. He fought us all the way. Once on the other side he complained of a headache. Got sick. Went crazy and we had to return him here. Now he doesn't even recognize us."

Moira shuddered. "After long-term exposure?"

"Yes. Place is a trap if you're not careful."

Moira winced, moaned as they moved faster. She stared at the portal. Could see the underground room beyond it. Empty. Dark. "I don't see any controls, devices. How do you operate it?"

"We don't. Let's go."

"Moira," came John's voice, low in her ear. "I'm on your six."

She inwardly sagged with relief. Half afraid she had lost him. "Are we going through–"

"Yes, and once there we will–"

The men fell back as if hitting a wall. The scene was stagnant. An invisible barrier blocking their escape. "It's...it's not there."

"What? Try it again!" the doctor ordered.

Moira staggered as the men freed her. Moved to the portal. Their hands hit a solid, invisible surface. Effectively blocking them. Effectively trapping them.


	8. Chapter 8

The Lazarus Effect8

The doctor whirled. Fury on his lined face. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Moira protested. "We know no more than you do!"

He slapped her. Hard. "What did you do to close the portal?" he demanded.

Moira spun with the hit, fell. Cried out in a groan of pain. "Nothing! Don't you know how it operates?"

"You–" He raised a fist.

Moira cowered, unable to move as dizziness, pain erupted. She braced herself. Instead she heard John's voice. "Stay down." Then gunfire flew all around her. Moira crumpled into a ball, hands over her head. She heard yells, screams. Returning fire. Something fell on top of her with a thud. A body. She jerked but didn't move. She heard the doctor yelling. Bullets zipped perilously close, chinking the road, the brick wall. Then silence. "John? John," she whispered.

The body moved, stood. Hauled her to her feet. Held a gun to her head as an arm wrapped around her waist. "Come out! Now! Or she dies!" the doctor threatened.

Moira gasped, witnessing the carnage. Dead and dying bodies all around her, staining the falling mist red with blood. As the doctor turned he pulled her with him.

"Sheppard! Show yourself or she dies!"

"No! John, no!" she croaked, as his arm pressed on her ribs. Her foot ached. She watched, helpless, as John appeared from a doorway. Gun in hand. Aimed at both of them. He neared. Gaze intent. Lethal.

"Let her go. Now," he quietly ordered.

"What did you do to the portal? It's closed! It's never been closed like that!"

John smiled. "Well now...isn't that interesting? Look like we're all stuck here, then. So let her go. Now."

"You won't shoot," the doctor taunted. Smiling. "You'll kill her. Or my finger might slip, and bye bye doctor."

"I'm not aiming at her,"John assured. "So, if you want to live you will let her go. Now. I'm not saying it again. Or I will kill you."

His cold, calm words worried the doctor. Worried Moira. "John..." she said.

"Baby, you know me. What do I like to do?" he asked.

She stared, puzzled. Suddenly realized and dropped down with force. The doctor's grip slipped at the unexpected motion. The gun jerked up. John fired. A single shot. A thud. The doctor fell back, spinning as blood spurted form his shoulder.

Moira fell forward, foot cramping, knocked off-balance by the violent jerking. She hit the pavement before John could catch her. She heard him shouting her name. Then nothing as blackness, pain, then nothing enveloped her.

"Moira!" John glanced up as he gently turned her onto her back. The doctor was clutching his shoulder, running down the alley. Voices raised in alarm. "Crap." He winced as his head began to ache. He checked Moira's throat. Her pulse was strong and steady. He grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at the blood pouring down her face. Saw only a cut across her forehead. He secured his gun under his coat, gathered her into his arms and stood.

"Hey! Hey, buddy! What's the jig?"

John carried her towards the voice, towards the street. "I need a doctor! Get a doctor, now!"

"Sure, buddy, hang on!"

John carried her down another street. A man ran towards him. "I'm a doctor! Doctor Samuels! What happened to her?"

"She cut her head, hit it hard! And there's something wrong with her foot! Come with me."

Once in the apartment John gently set Moira onto the bed. Removed her wet coat and hat. "What do you need?"

"Water." The older man touched her cheek, her brow. "Looks like a nasty cut but head wounds always bleed more than others. I'm sure she'll be fine." He opened his case. "I'll give her something for the pain."

"Pain. She was in terrible pain, doc. Her foot," John recalled, removing his wet coat. His hat. He set the gun on a chair. He took off his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves. Moved to get the water, some towels. He watched the doctor clean the wound. Put antiseptic on it. Place a small bandage on it. "Why won't she wake up?"

"A mild concussion. She'll be fine. Now...the foot, you said?"

"Yeah. Step back."

The doctor stood, stepped away. "I'll give her some laudanum."

John removed her shoes. Slid up her skirt. Slid his hand up, up to the garter belt, unhooking it. His fingers stroked her bare thigh before sliding down to remove the stocking. Memories of their seductive lovemaking made him smile. He suppressed his reactions, removed the other stocking. Pulled down the skirt to her ankles. "Here..." John stared at her scarred foot. A memory surfaced but so did the headache. He winced, closed his eyes a moment.

The doctor joined him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just a really bad headache," John answered, opening his eyes.

"Wow." The doctor touched her scarred foot. The livid red marks on her skin. Turned it. "What happened to her? Looks like some hoodlums caught her and did this to make her talk."

"Yes. I think so. She said it was cramping bad...I won't let her fall into those hands again," he vowed. Rubbed his forehead. The pain abated a little.

"I'll give you some aspirin. Hold her arm. A dose of this and she won't feel a thing."

***************************************************************************

Moira murmured. Pain in her arm roused her. Something jabbing her skin. She shifted, felt cold. Felt cold air on her bare feet. She struggled, but someone held her down. A voice, but she couldn't make it out. A door opening, closing. Moira woke abruptly, opened her eyes. Gasped.

"John!"

"Easy, easy, Moira, I'm here," he soothed, leaning close to kiss her gently. "You're safe. We're home."

"Home? Atlantis?" she asked, but the room looked strange. She pushed, sat to stare at John's clothing. Concern. She blinked. Saw her bare feet. "My–"

"Don't you worry, baby, I removed your stockings. The doctor said you'd be fine."

"Doctor? Carson? Is Carson here?"

"Samuels," John corrected, touching her thigh. "How do you feel?"

"I..." She winced as dizziness hit. She caught his arm. "John...what..." She looked at her arm. Saw gauze. "What did he give..." A warmth spread through her suddenly. She swayed.

"Easy, baby...the doc gave you something for the pain. Just sleep. We're safe now."

"Gave me...pain..." She tried to focus, but the pain and dizziness were merging into a weird warmth. Fuzziness clouded her mind. "John...the portal! The portal's closed! John!"

"Ssh, ssh, you're safe, Moira. I promise you, baby, those hoodlums won't be touching you ever again. Ever. What they did to your foot is the last thing you'll suffer."

"What? My foot? No, John. The Wraith...oh..." She swayed, struggled. "John, you, you have to be the colonel...you..."

He eased her onto her back. "Sleep, Moira. You'll be fine. Sleep." He kissed her cheek. Covered her with a blanket. "When you wake up we'll have something to eat."

"No, John," she struggled, but her limbs felt heavy. Her eyes felt heavy. Tension easing. "Please, John, the portal...you...colonel...have to be...." She slipped into slumber.

John shook his head. Stroked her cheek, her hair. "We're home now, baby. Home."

*************************************************************************

Moira rolled onto her side, muttering. She was lost in a dream. Of Wraith. Of portals. Of dancing with John in nineteen twenties clothing. Of vivid, wild sex. Of guns and severed arms. Of thylacines and running. Of sex, sex, sex. John taking her from behind, against the wall. The double orgasm, the pleasure pulsing, pounding. "John, oh John...oh John..."

John lifted his head, hearing her. He had been dozing at the table but her words woke him. Drew him as she rolled onto her other side. Small whimpers escaping her lips. A moan. Her body shifting, moving under the blanket. "Moira?"

"John...oh John, oh John..." she whispered, hand moving under the blanket.

He sat near, caught her hand as she rolled onto her back. He kissed her. Kissed her again as she pulled him closer.

Moira woke, shoved him. "John?"

He smiled. "You were dreaming, baby. You were calling me. You were saying oh John over and over...must have been quite a dream."

She blinked. Stared. Sat. "Where–"

"Home, baby. You're safe. Don't you remember?"

"I..." She flexed her foot. It felt leaden, but then it tingled. She touched her forehead, felt the bandage.

"You cut your head when you fell. You've been out a few hours. Doc said you won't have a scar, though."

"Doc? Carson?" she asked.

"Samuels. He runs the chemists' shop down the road."

"Samuels? You..." She looked at her arm, removed the gauze to see the puncture wound. Shuddered. "What did he give me? I feel so woozy."

"Laudanum for the pain. Your foot was–"

"Laudanum?" She gasped. "Shit! Shit! No wonder I'm feeling so fuzzy! Damn it, John, what were you thinking?" She glared at him. Saw his rolled up sleeves, the period clothes. "Oh no..." she realized.

"You needed a doctor, Moira. You're fine now. How does your foot feel?" He glanced there, where the blankets concealed it.

"John, do you remember how I hurt my foot?" she tested. Memory was flooding. The exposure to the light. The chase by Ford's men. The portal being closed. The doctor holding a gun on her. John's decimation of the doctor's men.

"Of course, Moira. That's how we met. You were in a bad place and I got you out. Those hoodlums won't touch you again, I promise. There's no mob boss to–"

"What? No, John! It was the Wraith! Well, a sub-Wraith! You remember the Wraith, don't you?"

"The..." He appeared puzzled. Touched his head. "Damn, I almost got rid of this headache, baby. Must be the–"

"John! This isn't you! I need the colonel now! I need Colonel John Sheppard. You..." She swayed. He caught her, eased her back.

"Whoa, baby, don't excite yourself. You hit your head. No wonder you're not making any sense. Here, you need to rest."

"No! No!" She sat, sighed. "Damn it!" She sniffed. "Is that...bread?"

He smiled. "Freshly baked. And soup. Are you hungry?"

"I...starving," she realized.

He stood. "Come and eat. It will do you good. Then we can hash out a plan to extend our resources."

She scooted out of the bed. Noted her bare feet. Pulled up the skirt. "John?"

He glanced at her, smiled. "I told you, baby, I removed your stockings and garters so the doc could check your foot. You think I'd let anyone else get a look at those gams, or touch you? Only me."

"Gams? Geez..." she muttered, moved to the table. "How did you–"

"I traded that pocket watch and some jewelry. Don't you worry, baby, I'll buy it all back again once we get a shipment going. Good hooch will be in short supply and I've got a–"

"Oh brother," she complained. "John! That watch wasn't yours, the jewelry wasn't mine! These clothes aren't ours, this apartment isn't home!" She looked round. "I wonder what happened to the people who did live here."

"Doesn't matter. We live here now. Eat."

She sighed, ate the food as he did. Considered. "How's your head?"

"Fine now. The headache comes and goes."

"Great," she muttered moodily. "We have to get out of here, John. Now. The speakeasy...we need to shut down that machine. Maybe that will open the portal. All I wanted was to study some thylacines," she rued.

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Finish your soup." She stood. Moved to peer out the window. "I have to make you the colonel again. Like before. I don't need this altered John. I need Colonel John..." she mused, watching the rain fall. The streets were dark, shiny. Mostly deserted. She shivered at the cold, rubbed her bare arms. Shifted as her foot twinged. Felt the cold floor underneath.

John was watching her. He stood, moved to the bed, pulled the blankets down. "You should rest, baby."

"Damn it, John, stop saying that! My name is Moira! Moira," she argued, shaking her head. But she turned, moved to him. Ran her hands up his chest. "Jo-hn," she said in a sing-song way. Testing. He smiled. "Ah, you remember that? Of course you do," she wryly stated. Kissed him. Figured he was tired. Tired from the gunfight, the running, the worry. Knew how to make him fall asleep quickly. Formed a plan.

"Moira?" he asked, arms encircling her.

"Damn you, John Sheppard...the things I have to do for you," she said softly, but smiled. She kissed him, unbuttoning the vest, the shirt. Ran kisses down his throat as her hands caressed his chest. Opening the shirt. "John...oh John...I'm so cold...sweetie, I want you to make love to me, John," she urged, removing his shirt and vest. She ran her kisses down, moving to her knees.

"Moira...oh baby...you...what...I thought only the back street girls did this...you saucy minx..." he stated, becoming aroused. Intrigued.

Moira kissed his waist, unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down. She caressed the silky gray boxers. Felt his hardness growing, growing. She slithered up to his mouth, kissing him. "Love me, John...love me," she wooed, guiding him back towards the bed.

He caught her, stepping out of the pants, sat and pulled her onto his lap. She leaned down to remove his shoes as he kissed her throat. Hands running up to cup her breasts through the linen material. "Moira," he invoked as she straightened, slipped off him. Stood to remove the dress. He slipped under the blankets, pulled off his boxers. Watching her turn away to pull down her panties, to lean.

"No comment, John?" she stated, straightening to unhook her bra. To remove it.

"Ah baby...you are so beautiful..."

"Hmm...I never thought I'd miss those pert little ass comments," she muttered wryly. Turned and slid in beside him. Moved over him. "Oh John...oh John," she whispered in his ear, "love me. Make love to me, John." She kissed him.

Abruptly they rolled. She was beneath him. "Moira...so very forward, my Moira..."

"Are you complaining, sweetie?"

"Hell no, baby..." he enthused.

**************************************************************************

Moira slipped reluctantly from John's arms. He was asleep, snoring. She quickly dressed in her Atlantis clothes. Hid the period garments for both of them. Laid out his Atlantis clothes. His P90. She checked her earpiece. Made sure his was on his ear. Kissed him lightly. "This had better work, John. I need the colonel back. This had better work."

She pulled on her Atlantis jacket, headed out into the rain. By the time she reached the speakeasy she was limping again. The wet, deserted streets were eerily silent. She could hear music but went round the back of the building. Pulling the gun she shot the lock. Quickly entered the club. Crossed to the backroom and saw the device. She carefully circled it at a safe distance. Trying to see any controls.

"Hey! What are you–"

"Can it, toots!" Moira advised, pointing the gun at the hatcheck girl. "What do you know about this thing?"

"It's a light show! That's all! Makes the patrons all calm and easy to pick. Don't point that thing at me again! I swear all we did was kiss, and cop a feel or two. He wouldn't do anything else although I tried! He–"

"Shut up! Tell me how to turn this thing off!"

"I don't know! I only work here!"

"Bullshit! You take all the men back here and show them this, don't you?"

"I swear, I swear, we's only locked lips and he–"

"I don't care what you did! Just turn off the–"

"Freeze!"

Moira whirled, gun still raised to see the doctor pointing a gun at her. "You–"

"That Sheppard guy's a lousy shot. He only nicked my shoulder."

"He's an excellent shot. If he had intended to kill you you'd be dead now," she smiled.

"You're going to fix the portal."

"I'm going to try," she agreed. "Look, we both want the same thing, right? To open the portal and get out of here. That machine must be the key."

"Then go over and turn it off."

"I was thinking you could do that," she countered.

"And be stuck here forever? Hell no. You are going to do it, doctor. That Sheppard guy is stuck here, isn't he? He doesn't want to leave. So you'll be more than happy to stay here. Now go...or I will shoot."

"You go or I will shoot," she argued. "Sheppard and I are leaving."

They pointed their guns at each other. The doctor smiled. "Looks like we have a stalemate. Now what?"


	9. Chapter 9

The Lazarus Effect9

John rolled, reaching. Felt empty sheets. "Moira? Ah, Moira, that was a sweet, sweet... Moira!" He sat. Stared round. Memories flooded. Her words. The speakeasy. Colonel. He felt a headache suddenly. Cursed. "Moira!" Acting on instinct he jumped out of the bed. Pulled on his Atlantis clothes without a second thought. Grabbed the P90. Tapped his earpiece. "Baby, copy? Baby?" he called, striding out of the apartment.

Moira nearly jumped as John's voice rang in her ear. She tapped the comm. "Sweetie? Copy? Colonel?"

"Where are you, Moira? The speakeasy? Hold position, I'm on my way!

"As ordered, colonel," she said, relieved. She glanced at the hatcheck girl. Gestured with the gun. "Her. Do you know anything about her?"

The doctor glanced at her. "No. Only that she lured my four men back here."

"She knows about the machine! You!" Moira turned her gun on her. "Turn off that machine now!"

"I don't know what you're talking–" the girl began to protest in a squeak.

"Do it!" the doctor agreed, turning his weapon on her too.

"Are you really going to shoot me, mister? When I can offer you some sweet nookie?" she asked, sashaying towards him.

"He might not but I will!" Moira vowed. She fired at the floor. The girl squealed.

The doctor whirled, gun on Moira again. She turned the gun back on him. "She doesn't know anything! You! Go now! You know more about Ancient tech than me."

"I...you're right," Moira realized. Glared but the girl was gone. "Shit." Moira hesitated, stepping sideways towards the machine. Stopped before it activated.

"Lower your weapon. Now."

The doctor whirled. John strolled into view, aiming his P90. "You? I...I thought..." He stared at John's modern clothing.

"You're going in there. Or I will kill you this time."

Moira lowered her weapon. "No, John. He doesn't know the Ancient tech. I–"

"No! Back away, Moira! Now." John stepped closer, eyes never leaving the doctor. "Drop the gun. Now. You're going to shut down that thing..." he winced as the headache pounded.

The doctor fired, but John sprang to one side. Moira fired, hit the doctor's leg. He stumbled backwards towards the machine. "No! No!" he cried as the lights flared.

Moira ran but John caught her, launched them both to the floor behind some crates. "Cover your eyes!" he shouted, closing his as he pushed her to the floor. Fell on top of her. Moira shut her eyes tight as the gun fell from her hands.

"John!"

"Keep your eyes closed, Moira!" he ordered, placing his hand over his own. "Pull out the crystals! Pull out the crystals!" he instructed, but gunfire erupted in the room. The repeated rat-a-tat-tat of a Tommy-gun filled the air. Glass shattered. A scream.

Moira squinted, chanced a peek. The lights were fading. Silence. She opened her eyes. "John," she whispered.

He squinted. Opened his eyes. Put a finger to his lips as he moved off her. Hoisted the P90. Held up his hand for her to stay. He slowly, slowly peered around the crates. The machine was quiet. Dark. The doctor's body sprawled on the floor. Riddled with bullets. Blood soaked the floor. John slowly stood, gun ready. The room was empty. "Moira," he said. Gestured.

She stood, followed him towards the machine. Grimaced at the bloody body. "John? Are you okay?"

He was rubbing his head, shoulders hunched. A siren wailed in the distance. "Cover me."

"What? No! You can't!"

He turned to her, shoved the gun into her hands. "I know more than you about Ancient tech. I'm going in to pull those futzing...fucking crystals. I'll keep my eyes closed."

"John, you can't! You–"

He kissed her suddenly. A hard, searing kiss which almost made her drop the gun. "For luck." He flashed a grin, strode to the machine. "Cover your eyes, Moira. Listen for enemy fire."

"John! No!"

But he shut his eyes as the lights flared brightly. Moira shut her eyes, turning away, clutching the P90 in both hands. The sirens were growing louder, louder. She could hear noises, voices. Something ramming the club's doors. "John!"

"I can feel them. Here we go." He started to yank the crystals, squinting his eyes closed against the brilliant light that threatened to penetrate his eyelids. The headache pounded but he concentrated, ripping crystal by crystal.

"John! Hurry! John!"

"Moira! Shoot at the door!" he shouted as a weird humming filled his ears. He grunted, hands slipping but slammed his palm on a panel, pried at the buttons. The light flared hotly. Then something hit him. Knocked him across the room. He hit the floor hard, rolled, covering his eyes with his hands. "Moira!"

The door burst open, wood splintering. Moira heard it smashing. She whirled towards the sound, eyes closed tight against the brightness. Fired blindly. Bullets flew. Shouts. Bodies trying to pile in, return fire. "John!" she shouted.

John heard a woman scream, prayed it wasn't Moira. Chanced a peek to see the light. Moira standing, firing the gun, bodies advancing in the doorway. He launched towards her, grabbed her ankle. "Down!" She dropped to the floor. Felt John pulling her back as he slid back, back. "Don't lose the gun!" he shouted. Bullets pinged around him.

Moira cringed, pushed herself backwards, one hand on the P90. The light was intense, almost painful. "John! John!" She froze as she felt him crawling up her body. Taking the gun.

"Put your head down, baby," he said into her ear, his weight pinning her. He shifted on top of her, shoving into her rear, her back. He chanced a quick glance, saw the men. Fired.

Moira covered her ears as the gun nearly deafened her. She opened her eyes as the light flooded. A spectrum of colors dazzling, dancing in the air. "John..."

"No peeking," he admonished, hearing her awe. He fired the gun with one hand, covered her eyes with the other. "Damn it. Futzing coppers! We're behind the eight ball now, baby, we need a way out!"

"The eight...oh no, no! You need to be the colonel!"

"Ow!" he complained as she elbowed him. He stopped firing as his head pounded. He listened. Silence. Darkness. The light wasn't dancing on his eyelids. He opened his eyes. The room was dark. The men staring, spellbound, but dazed now, as if awakening. "Crap. Moira, it's safe." He uncovered her eyes.

Moira raised her head, opened her eyes. "You...you did it!" She scrambled to her feet as he stood. She hit him. "That was stupid! How could you take such a risk? You–"

"Will you stop hitting me?" he asked. "Come on!" He pulled across the room. Shouting. Gunfire. John broke into a run, Moira beside him. They ducked and dodged, ran down the wet street. John whirled, firing. "Go, go! I've got your six!"

Moira ran around the corner, splashing in the puddles. She paused, seeing the people, the traffic. But John came racing round the corner after her. "John!"

"Go, go!" he urged, but grabbed her arm. "There! Get on the running board!"

"The what?"

"The car! The running board!" He pointed. Pushed her. She ran, jumped onto the extended board outside of the car's door. John jumped onto the other, waved his gun at the startled driver. "Drive, buddy! Now! Get a wiggle on!"

"Okey-dokey, boss! What's your beef?"

The car swerved, sped up the road. Tooting its horn. "Hang on, Moira!" John shouted. "Turn right!" The car swerved, rolled down the road. John looked behind to see their pursuers tangled in the crowd. In the traffic. Sirens. Shouts. People running in all directions. "Keep going! Left now!"

"All right, all right, you're giving me the heebie-jeebies!"

"Just drive, pipe down!" John growled. "Stop here!" The car jerked to a halt. John jumped to the ground, moved to Moira who stepped off the running board. "Go chase yourself." The car sped away from them.

"John? You–" she stammered, but he caught her arm, pulled her into an alley. Up into a doorway.

"Crap." He rubbed his temple, peered out cautiously. "I think we lost them, baby."

She touched his arm. "John, are you all right?"

He met her worried gaze, shrugged. "I don't know. I don't understand half of what I just said." He looked out again. "Okay. This way."

"Where are we?" Moira asked, taking hold of his arm.

"The portal. We've circled round it. Let's hope it's open." He tapped his earpiece. "McKay, copy? Lorne, do you read? This is Sheppard."

"Sheppard? Finally! We've been–"

"Listen to me! We're heading to you, to the portal. Is it open?"

"Yes...just now, but fluctuating at thirty percent."

"I'll come through, sir, to–"

"Negative, major! Do not engage! No one comes through, do I make myself clear? We're coming to you. McKay, keep it open!"

"What? How? You–"

Moira stumbled, staggered, cried out as her foot cramped. "John!"

He caught her. "Moira! What's wrong?"

"My foot! I...I can't..."

"Hold onto me." He slid his arm around her, guided her. Looked behind them. "Crap. We have to move, honey."

"What?" She looked back to see men heading for them. They quickly rounded the corner, saw the portal. Saw Rodney and Evan. Rodney started forward but Evan held him back. The picture flickered, then cleared.

"Major, we've got company. Cover our six from there!"

"Yes, sir!" Evan lifted his gun.

"We're almost there, Moira," John soothed, but she was limping, wincing. Dragging her foot. Unable to put any weight on it.

"I can't! I can't! Let me go! John, please, go!" There were tears in her eyes as her foot cramped savagely under her. She fell but John caught her. "I have to stay here, John! I have to stay! I'll be fine!"

"Oh no. Not now, Moira." He glanced back. The men were advancing. With clubs, bats. John swung the gun over his shoulder. Swung Moira up into his arms. Began to jog towards the portal.

"No, John! I have to stay! I need the, the laudanum!"

"Stop struggling, Moira! We're going home!"

"Let go! Let go of me!" she argued, grabbing his shoulders. "John!"

"Hang onto me, Moira, I'm not letting go!" He rushed through the portal, nearly fell as it momentarily flickered, catching them in a web of light, of uncertainty. He stumbled, set Moira down. Whirled and opened fire as did Evan. The men fell back. "Rodney! Close it! Close it!"

"Close it? I don't even know how you opened it?"

"Great! Go!"

Rodney took Moira's arm, led her across the room but she staggered, fell. "Moira?"

"Go! Go, Rodney!"she urged. "I have to go back!"

"John–"

"Go! I'll get her! Lorne, take point! Lead us out of here!"

"Sir!" Evan darted ahead of them. John turned, ran to Moira.

"Come on!"

"No! I can't! I need Samuels! I'll hold them off! I can't stand! Go!" she informed him.

John spewed bullets but the men were crossing the threshold, emerging into the room. "Fine. You leave me no option, Moira!"

"Good! Go!"

He hoisted her up over his shoulder. Began to jog after the others.

"John! Damn it! Put me down!" She hit his back, his rear.

"Ow! Easy, baby." He slid her up a little.

"Let me go! Damn you, let me go!" She hit his back, pounding with hir fists as the jouncing, upside-down gait rattled her head. "John! Let me go!"

He turned, fired his weapon at the advancing shadows. Paused to see the portal ripple. Close. Trap a man in between the two realities. His face a frozen mask of horror. "Crap." He turned to climb the stairs. "Stop hitting me!" he flared.

"Then let me go! Let me go!" she shouted. "Ow!"

He had slapped her rear. "Stop hitting me, Moira or that pert little ass is going to be sore! The things I have to do for you!"

"John!" she cried in outrage. "Let me go! Let me go or I'll throw up!"

He paused, hearing her very real distress. He checked behind them. There was no pursuit. He climbed another level. Hoisted her onto her feet. She swayed, dizzy, disorientated. Flushed. He caught her, steadied her. "Moira? Are you okay? Look, I had to–" She slapped him. "Ow!"

"That's for slapping my ass! Now get your paws off me!" She pulled herself along the wall, limping painfully.

Bewildered John watched her. Touched his stinging jaw. "Damn it, Moira, I'm trying to help you!" He followed. "We don't have time for this!"

"If I'm slowing you down then leave me!"

"Major! Fall back!" John ordered, concerned, puzzled. Pissed at her odd attitude.

"Sir?" Evan ran back to them.

"Help her highness here. I'll take point."

"Yes, go, go! Leave me! It's what your best at!" she snapped. "Evan, help me!"

John glowered. "Get her to the surface in one piece!" he snapped. Darted ahead of them.

"Moira? What the hell was that about?" Evan asked, holding her as he helped her limp up the tunnel.

"Nothing! My foot is killing me but I won't be dragged around like a sack of potatoes!"she said. "Oh! It's...I need a, a, a fix! I'm shaking! I need the laudanum, please!"

"The what? Carson's here, Moira, just hold onto me!"

"Carson? No, I need Samuels! I need a fix! I'm strung out, Evan, help me!"

"Easy, Moira, we're almost there."

They emerged onto the surface. It was dark. Eerily silent. Marines stood round, guarding the perimeter. Evan helped her towards a Jumper. "Carson! Carson!" he called. But Moira stared back to see John giving orders, gesturing.

"John! John!" she called, pain evident in her voice.

John whirled, strode to her. "Moira?"

"John, I...what did that, that quack give me? What did he, he inject? I can't, can't remember."

"Quack? The doctor? Samuels?" He rubbed his temple suddenly. "Damn, I need a doctor."

"John! Focus!"

He looked at her as she swayed, nearly swooned in Evan's arms. "Moira? Are you okay?"

"He gave me something for the pain, Carson, he gave me some, some, some drug," she stammered, teeth chattering. "I can feel it. I need it, Carson! I need more to stop this!"

"She mentioned laudanum, Carson. Was that–"

"Moira! Bring her to the Jumper now!" Carson urged, running to them.

"Shit! Laudanum! The doctor shot her full of it when she was knocked out, in pain from her foot," John remembered. "The guy–"

"Laudanum? Dear Lord, what century were you in? Come on, Moira, I'll give you something to settle your nerves, love."

"I wasn't myself, Carson! I wasn't–" John tried to explain, turned. "Let's go! We're returning to Atlantis now."

"John! John!" Moira called, struggling. "Let me go! I need to go back! I need it! I need it! Make the pain stop! Make it stop! I need it!" she nearly screamed, voice rising into hysterics.

"Carson, do something!" John barked.

"I will, colonel, once we are in Atlantis. Easy, love, easy...that might have been a pure opiate you were given." The doctor glared at John. "How could you let this happen?"

"I didn't mean to...I mean, I wasn't...I....just take care of her!" he snapped.

"No!" Moira fought, struggled as she was forced into the Jumper, onto a seat. The bright lights dazzled her eyes. The strong hands held her down. "No! Let go of me! Stop it! John! John!" she shouted.

"Hold her steady!" Carson instructed. "I've got to give her a sedative now!"

"Moira, Moira, it's me, we're going home! You'll be fine!" John assured, holding her by the shoulders as Evan held down her legs.

"Let go! Let go! I don't know anything! I don't know!" She cried out as she was injected in the arm. "No!"

"Moira!" John snapped sharply. So harshly she went still, staring at him. "Stop acting like an idiot and let Carson help you!" he ordered sternly.

"Thank you, colonel. There...this should calm her," Carson withdrew the needle, applied pressure.

Moira stared, aghast. "John? How could you? How could you...I hate you. I hate you!" she flared, blinking several times. She lolled back against the seat.

"I hate you too, Moira," he quietly replied. Sighed. "We're good to go." He ignored the stares of Carson, of Evan, and moved to the front of the ship. "Let's get the hell out of here."


End file.
